


The Boys of Summer

by neverhaveieverbooks



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Married Life, New York, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7045462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverhaveieverbooks/pseuds/neverhaveieverbooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine's first summer in New York after they get married.  It's easy. It's hard. It's perfectly imperfect.  A summer tale in 12 chapters. Canon-compliant.  This story technically takes place within the middle of episode 6 x 13, after Nationals, and before they return to McKinley for  their visit in the fall.</p>
<p>Written for the Klaine Summer Challenge 2016 on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come 2 the Park and Play  With Us (Prompt: Park)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "The Boys of Summer" by Don Henley. We expect to update every weekend starting on June 3, as prompts are released. Please let us know what you think, and follow us on tumblr at neverhaveieverbooks!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're leaving Ohio. This time Kurt isn't going to leave Blaine behind. In any way. Title taken from Prince's song "Paisley Park".

Kurt surveyed the hatchback of the Prius and sighed. It wasn’t all going to fit. He had known this before they started packing. Known that Blaine’s books, summer clothes and shoes, and vintage robot collection and all the scrapbooks he made in high school were not going to fit in the back of a Prius, for god’s sake.

But he also knew that they needed to figure out how to get everything Blaine wanted to New York. The last time Blaine moved to New York he showed up with just a suitcase and had his mom send a couple of boxes of clothes after he arrived. He had moved into Kurt and Rachel’s loft and used Kurt and Rachel’s things. That had been a disaster. When he had moved out the first time, Kurt was sort of surprised at how easy it was for him to do--at how little of Blaine had actually been in the loft, since it had seemed liked he and his things were everywhere.

The second time Blaine moved out Kurt was just relieved. Relieved that after all that time and all that drama Blaine could actually disappear from his life with one trip to UPS and a couple of fully-stuffed pieces of luggage. The first night after they broke up Kurt sat completely alone in the loft and found himself staring at Blaine’s piano, wonderingly idly if Blaine would come get it. He didn’t, of course. Blaine had meant the piano as a gift for Kurt, even though he was the one who still played. But though Blaine gave it to him, Kurt always thought of it as Blaine’s piano.

Blaine bought it to play classical music on weekend mornings, Vivaldi and Chopin, while Kurt made pancakes and fruit smoothies for late brunches, and to run scales for Kurt while he practiced for vocal classes. Blaine bought the piano so that he could serenade Kurt with cheesy pop songs when Kurt got home late from the diner, tired and smelling of french fries and apple pie, and so that Blaine could write songs for them to sing together. After he left the second time, Blaine never contacted Kurt about the piano. It sat in one corner of the loft, unused, piled with Kurt’s designer books and sheet music, like an extra bookshelf.

Kurt shook the memory from his head, focusing again on the back of the Prius in Blaine’s mother’s driveway in Ohio, and on the three boxes piled up on the pavement that were simply not going to fit. Movers were coming to bring the piano and the rest of Kurt’s furniture from the loft to their new apartment on the Lower East Side next weekend. That part was set. But right now he had to figure out how to make more space for Blaine’s things because not making room for them was a mistake he wasn’t going to repeat.

Blaine came out of the front door with a garment bag stuffed full. And there was his mom coming behind him with the lamp from his bedside table and a couple of pillows. Definitely not going to fit.

Blaine saw the problem immediately. His face fell.

“Oh. Maybe I need to figure out what to leave behind.” His brow was starting to knit as he surveyed the boxes strewn on the driveway.

Kurt turned away from the car, fishing his phone from his pocket.

“Nope,” he said lightly. “Not this time. I’m calling U-Haul.” The smile that broke out on Blaine’s face made Kurt smile too.

Two days later, with a U-Haul trailer packed and attached to the back of the Prius, they were getting ready to leave Ohio. Again.

It was a ten-hour drive, across the state on Route 71 and then onto Route 80 through mostly rural Pennsylvania. Kurt’s dad had insisted on checking the car over before they left, fiddling with things under the hood that Kurt knew were perfectly adjusted, but which made his dad feel better for having had his hands on.

At one point Blaine leaned in under the hood with him and asked Burt something about when to check the inverter and Kurt went back into the house, pretending he didn’t hear his dad answering, pretending to be looking for water bottles for the trip, his chest a little tight and his eyes a little watery from knowing what it meant for Blaine to want to talk cars with his Dad.

Kurt had left Ohio for New York before. He left the first time, with no college admission, no job and no place to live, terrified and lost, but completely determined. He left Ohio again after Mr. Schue’s first wedding, the memory of a night in a hotel room with Blaine still branded on his mind and on his skin, uncertain about how to be in New York with Adam when the biggest part of him was still firmly lodged in Blaine’s heart back in Lima. And once, he left Ohio with an engagement ring on his finger, dessicated rose petals falling out of his suit pocket as he pulled his boarding pass out at the airport in Dayton. Each of those times he left Blaine behind. This time was different.

He went back outside with the water bottles to find Blaine still watching Burt as Burt checked the tire pressure in all four tires.

“Hey,” he said. Burt didn’t even look up before he answered.

“Kurt, I need about another half hour. I want to make sure that trailer hitch is connected properly.”

“Fine, Dad, can I steal Blaine for a quick walk down to the park? We’re going to be in the car for a long time.”

His dad just grunted, but Blaine smiled and fell in step by Kurt’s side as they walked down his street to the little park at the edge of Kurt’s neighborhood. Correction: At the edge of his dad’s neighborhood. It wasn’t his anymore.

The park was quiet this morning, a few runners and a dog walker, but the mothers with strollers weren’t yet here. Blaine and Kurt sat on the swings, Blaine kicking idly at the dirt under the swingset. 

Kurt looked around the park, remembering picnics with Blaine the first summer they were dating. Kurt used to create ridiculously complicated menus with themes intended to impress a new boyfriend, dates stuffed with cheese and couscous salad for Morroccan Day, or rainbow fruit salads composed of kiwis and melon and pineapple, laid out in perfect rows in the tupperware. Blaine admired it all, and he ate everything, but he was just as happy the day Kurt ran out of inspiration and packed a brick of cheddar cheese and Ritz crackers. 

“It’s perfect, Kurt, “ Blaine told him, as he carefully cut pieces of cheese with his swiss army knife and laid them on crackers to present to Kurt. And Kurt knew he meant it, the humid air swirling around them and the noise of children on this same swingset making a chorus in the background. He knew because he could see the way Blaine looked at him, a drowsy half smile on his face, eyes heavy-lidded in the heat, watching Kurt’s mouth as he popped in a cracker and chewed it.

Kurt remembered parking here after the junior prom, the emotion of the night still heavy in his chest, but Blaine sure and certain in his arms in the back seat. Blaine carefully took the crown off of Kurt’s head and laid it with that ridiculous scepter on the front seat. Then he turned to Kurt in the dark under the oak trees at the edge of the parking lot, and kissed him without words, until the heaviness disappeared and all Kurt could think about was Blaine’s fingers tight on his back, and the scruff of Blaine’s cheek against his jaw and their breath together, warm and still sweet from the punch.

Last winter, he and Blaine had come to this park late at night after they went to dinner with that couple from the jewelry shop. Blaine had seemed antsy and on the verge of saying something, but he didn’t and Kurt didn’t want him to. He wanted to walk through the park on a dark, cold night and look at the remains of some little kid’s snowman under the moonlight, not to talk at all. His dad didn’t have cancer, Blaine was in his life again, and he didn’t want to tempt the universe by talking about any of it. He just wanted to let it be.

Today, back in the park on a warm June day, it was Blaine’s turn to say, “Hey.”

And Kurt looked over at him, sitting on the swing next to him looking at Kurt with open eyes and a broad smile. He smiled back and then Blaine said, “I bet I can swing higher than you,” with a gleam in his eye. Kurt snorted. Said, “You’re on Anderson,” and pushed off with both feet.

This time Kurt wasn’t leaving anything behind. He wasn’t leaving Blaine (or any of Blaine’s things) and, even though his dad and Carole were still here, he knew now that the distance didn’t mean he was leaving his dad either. He also wasn’t leaving with the taste of failure in his mouth.

Kurt and Blaine swung their swings higher and higher until they were breathless, laughing and giddy with all of it. Kurt let memory swirl together with anticipation in his mind and watched the leaves on the oak trees advance and recede with each push of his legs. And then they walked back to Kurt’s house hand in hand, buckled themselves into the fully loaded car and Kurt headed toward the entrance ramp to the interstate to take them both back to New York.


	2. Good Humor Men (Prompt: Ice Cream Parlor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for The Klaine Summer Challenge on tumblr. 
> 
> Prompt 2: Ice Cream Parlor
> 
> They're moving into their new apartment in New York. Kurt is pissed, Blaine is charming, and they finally end up exactly where they should be. Oh, and there’s a little bit of whipped cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Kurt and Blaine sing together is “Home” by Jack Johnson.
> 
> The Big Gay Ice Cream Shop is a real New York chain.

Kurt was about to lose his temper.  Blaine could see it in the way he was clenching his jaw,  huffing out his breath, and in the fierce expression on his face.   The movers had just arrived from Bushwick with their furniture and the manager for their apartment still hadn’t come with the keys to let them in. Even though she was supposed to be there two hours ago.  Even though they had called an hour ago and she had promised to be there in twenty minutes.  The movers started opening the back of the truck and the driver came up to ask Blaine for the apartment number.

 

“Well,” he said, “It’s on the fifth floor, 5A, but we don’t have the key yet.”  The driver shrugged and said, “Better find it, or we leave it on the curb. Is there a separate elevator for freight?”

 

“Umm,” Blaine looked at him, The driver looked like a professional wrestler, with a thick neck and huge arms.  He wore leather work gloves, and a moving company sweatshirt, despite the fact that it was turning into a warm day. The guy just stared at Blaine, who admitted, “It’s a walk-up.  There is no elevator.”

 

“Extra five hundred bucks, and the tips should be bigger, too.” the guy snapped without missing a beat. At which point Blaine started to notice Kurt flaring his nostrils in that way that could only mean he was about to lose it. The moving van was double-parked in the middle of their side street, and Blaine could tell that if Kurt let loose this day was not going to get better any time soon.

 

Luckily,  the woman who had accepted their rental application a month ago appeared on the front steps of the building at that moment, carrying a notebook stuffed with papers and a bunch of keys.  Blaine nodded at the driver without committing to anything out loud and turned to Kurt before he could demand to know why she had kept them waiting.

 

Kurt’s mouth was open halfway when Blaine grabbed him by the arm and steered him in the other direction.  Over his shoulder, he called to the bored-looking woman, “Good to see you Mrs. Dolorovich. Be right there!”

 

The movers were milled at the back of the truck as Blaine moved Kurt a few yards down the street.  “Kurt,” Blaine hissed as he steered Kurt out of  earshot of the movers and the manager, “please let me handle this.  We need to get into the apartment and get these people to work for us.  Let me manage them.  Why don’t you go get some sodas and pizza for the movers?  There must be a pizzeria somewhere around, right?” Kurt glared at him, and then closed his mouth and muttered under his breath for a minute. Blaine kept one hand on his arm and looked at him, silently pleading.

 

“Alright,” Kurt finally said, hands on his hips, obviously still itching for a fight. “I’ll go away and let you use your prep school charm, Blaine Warbler, but do _not_ pay those movers an extra dime.  We told the company exactly what the job was and they are already charging too much.”

 

“Just go,” Blaine pleaded.  “Tonight it will all be over. And we’ll be home. In our home. Alone.” Kurt glared at him even harder.  

 

“Dammit Blaine, do not be charming and romantic with me right now!  It’s completely unfair.”  Blaine grinned at him tentatively.

 

As Kurt reluctantly headed off down the street, Blaine turned back to the manager, who was impatiently looking at her phone on the front steps. “Mrs. Dolorovich?“ he asked, going over to shake her hand, “Thank you so much for meeting us.  Red is such a great color on you!”

 

A half hour later, Kurt, somewhat calmed down, returned with two pizzas and a bagful of soda cans to find most of the furniture upstairs.  Blaine was chatting with the head mover about the Giants’ new coach and their prospects for the upcoming season, while he directed the rest of the crew to put furniture in place. The manager was gone, having left the keys and a pile of papers.

 

They had seen the apartment a month ago, but neither of them had remembered all of the details. Like the morning sun streaming through the front windows in the living room, or the little closet (pantry? study?) that some previous tenant had carved out of the kitchen.  Or the wall of exposed brick in the tiny bedroom that now held his bed from the loft.  It was small, the kitchen and the bedroom were awfully dark, and it was five flights up, but it was close to both NYU and NYADA, on a side street on the Lower East Side.  The realtor had explained to them that it was a “neighborhood in transition,” which apparently meant that it had a handful of dirty-looking older shops and a mix of newer stores and cafes.  The most important thing was that the apartment had walls and doorways between the rooms, and it was all theirs.  Blaine smiled at Kurt when he saw him come in, and then pointedly asked the moving guy if he was a Knicks fan, too. He could see Kurt shake his head and roll his eyes, but this time there was a tiny grin on his face.

 

Another half hour later, the truck was unpacked.  The piano dominated the living room though it had been placed by the living room windows. Blaine saw Kurt run a hand over the top of it while Blaine walked the movers out, still chatting football offense strategy with the head guy.  When he returned to the apartment, now breathing heavily from the climb, he looked around.  There were boxes everywhere.  They still needed to unpack the Prius, which was parked several blocks away under confusing signage, and he wasn’t sure where the box of linens was to make the bed. But Kurt was still standing by the piano, looking out the window.

 

He turned, as he heard Blaine come in, and Blaine could see the irritation was now completely gone from his face, replaced by some softer emotion that wasn’t quite clear.  Kurt said, “I missed you playing your piano.” Ahh, that.

 

Blaine came up next to him, and pulled Kurt into a hug.  “It’s _your_ piano.  And I’ll play it any time you like.” Kurt leaned into the hug, and they stood there for a moment, before Blaine turned, pulled the piano stool up, and took a seat.  

 

“I found an ice cream parlor,” Kurt said, as Blaine flexed his hands.  ‘You won’t believe what it’s called:  ‘The Big Gay Ice Cream Shop!’  The menu is a riot.  You’ll love the _Bea Arthur_.”

 

Blaine smiled at him without saying anything, and then turned his attention to the piano keys as he started to sing.

 

_I've gotta get home_

_There's a garden to tend_

_All the fruit's on the ground_

_The birds have all moved back into my attic,_

_Whistled in static_

_The young learn to fly_

_I will patch up the holes once again_

 

He saw Kurt smile at the bird reference.  Then Kurt sat down next to him and they harmonized on the chorus, Kurt’s countertenor rising above Blaine’s baritone,

 

_And so I try to understand_

_What I can't hold in my hand_

_And whatever I find I'll find my way back to you_

_And if you could try to find it too_

_'Cause this place is overgrown, it's a waxing moon._

_Home is wherever we are if there's love here_ too

 

As Blaine finished up the last note, Kurt leaned his head on Blaine’s shoulder and sighed.  Then he said, “God, you are so cheesy.”

 

“Yep,” said Blaine, “that’s why you keep me around.”  They sat quietly for a moment, letting the street noise from outside settle around them in their new space.

 

That afternoon, Blaine unpacked the kitchen and broke down boxes while Kurt set up their bookshelves (the movers only broke one; Kurt thought he could fix it once he found his tool kit) and spread fresh sheets on the bed.  Afterward they walked down to Kurt’s Big Gay Ice Cream Shop and shared something called a Monday Sundae for dinner.

 

Blaine watched as Kurt dipped a finger into the whipped cream on top of the ice cream and licked it clean.  Kurt almost always did that with whipped cream and it was one of Blaine’s favorite things to watch, even though he never said anything out loud about it to Kurt. Part of him thought that if he mentioned it Kurt would start doing it because he knew Blaine liked it, which would change it altogether.  So Blaine silently watched Kurt dip his finger, and smiled, and then dipped his own spoon into the ice cream. On the way back to their apartment, Kurt asked Blaine how much he paid the movers. Blaine refused to tell him and Kurt pretended to pout all the way upstairs. But when they got to the top floor, and Blaine turned the key in the lock, Kurt stepped into their living room and immediately stopped pouting as he looked around and then at Blaine.  

 

The apartment was darkening although the sky outside was still light, and Blaine flipped on the overhead light in the tiny bedroom.  Kurt moved into the room behind him and started rummaging in a box of clothes at the end of the bed.

 

“Kurt?” asked Blaine, coming up behind him, and wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist.  Kurt stilled for a moment. “Kurt, can we not unpack anymore today? I’m hot and tired and filthy. I just want to take a shower and go to bed. We can do it tomorrow.”

 

“But--” Kurt started to argue.

 

“Kurt? Please?”  Blaine tightened his grip on Kurt and felt him turn in his arms.  Kurt  wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck, tipping his forehead into Blaine’s and sighing.  

 

“Okay,” he said. “I guess it was kind of a stupid idea anyway.”

 

“What?” asked Blaine. He leaned into Kurt and moving his mouth to that spot behind Kurt’s ear that was so inviting and that always made Kurt wild when he kissed it.

 

“The pajamas,” said Kurt, his voice pitching upward as Blaine worked at his neck.

 

Blaine pulled back, looking at Kurt.  “You bought new pajamas for our first night here? That’s so---not how I thought this was going to go.” Blaine was confused.

 

Kurt shook his head and reached forward to kiss Blaine. He smiled a bit.

 

“They’re vintage  Brooks Brothers. Silk.  I got them off Etsy. I think I had this kind of fantasy about wearing them our first night here in our new apartment… And then having you take them off me...” Kurt shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Never mind. It was a silly idea.”

 

“Not silly,” said Blaine decisively. “Anything involving you and a fantasy where I get to take vintage clothes off of you is definitely _not_ silly.  What box do you think they’re in?”  Kurt laughed, and planted a kiss on Blaine’s cheek. They looked through boxes until Kurt found the pajamas, dark gray silk with cherry red piping, and Blaine sent him off to start the hot water.

 

Later, clean and still damp from their first shower together in their new home, Blaine led Kurt into the dark of their new bedroom, pulled back the covers on their bed and gently pushed Kurt down into the crisp, clean sheets.  Feet still on the floor, a towel around his waist, Blaine leaned over Kurt and pressed his hands on Kurt’s chest, feeling the smooth silk of the pajamas.  He spread his hands and, finding Kurt’s nipples, flicked them with his thumbs through the silk.  Kurt exhaled audibly.  Running his hands down Kurt’s sides and over his ribs, Blaine lifted Kurt at the waist and drew down his pajama bottoms.  He tossed them aside.  With one hand under each thigh, he pulled Kurt to the side of bed, spreading Kurt’s legs and lifting them so that they bent at the knee over Blaine’s hips.  

 

“Was this what you had in mind?” he asked, coyly.

 

“Mmm,” Kurt hummed quietly in response.

 

Using his knees, Kurt loosened the towel at Blaine’s waist and smiled as it fell to the floor.  He reached his arms upward toward Blaine, who bent over and kissed him, pressing his body against Kurt’s chest and between Kurt’s legs.    Blaine unbuttoned Kurt's pajama top carefully, taking his time to caress and admire. They were tired, too tired for much more than this, pushing insistently against each other. Kurt groaned softly, and Blaine kissed him quiet.

 

It was a lot, thought Blaine.  Even something as simple as this.  It certainly wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before, not even that they hadn’t done this before in New York.  But it still seemed new. Different. More. The shadows in their new bedroom moved on the walls in patterns that were unfamiliar and the delicate silk of the  pajamas lay crushed under Kurt’s back as they moved together. Kurt’s body was urging him on, and as he felt himself give in, Blaine gasped into Kurt’s ear, “Welcome home.” Kurt shuddered hard against him.

 

After, as they lay drowsy in each other’s arms, listening to the street noise outside, and settling into sleep, Kurt murmured back to Blaine, “Welcome home.” Blaine sang again to Kurt, softly in his ear:

 

_And if you could try to find it too, cause this place is overgrown with works in bloom_

_Home is wherever we are if there is love there too._

 


	3. Broken Road (Prompt: Carnival)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last year Kurt and Blaine broke up right before Pride Weekend. This year they have to deal with what happened then in order to be able to get past it. The chapter where they both learn what being a "work in progress" means.
> 
> Written for the Klaine Summer Challenge 2016.
> 
> Prompt 3: Carnival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was always intended to be a little sad. We wanted to explore what happened when Kurt and Blaine had to deal with something hard from their past--and put their wedding vows to the test. Trigger warning: We started writing it before the Pulse nightclub shooting, and that tragedy may make it feel a little sadder right now. There is a very brief mention of Pulse in the description of Pride in New York. If you are still feeling a little vulnerable from the events of the last week, and just need some fluff in your life, you may not want to read this chapter right now. We understand completely (we're feeling a little vulnerable right now too). Hugs and peace.
> 
> The chapter title and the song they dance to is "Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts.

Even though this was his third summer living in New York, Kurt still hadn’t been to Pride. The summer after his freshman year, Pride Weekend in New York conflicted with Blaine’s graduation from McKinley, back in Ohio. Last year, Kurt and Blaine had made all kinds of Pride plans.  Blaine had mapped out an elaborate itinerary on his phone, insisting they make their way down to the Stonewall Inn at some point (“Because Kurt, we haven’t been yet, and we _need_ to see it. It seems disrespectful not to go”).  He had scouted good locations for the parade and he had surprised Kurt with two tickets to the annual Broadway Bares, an AIDS fundraiser show featuring Broadway performers stripping down to their, er, essentials while singing showtunes.

 

“I hear Aaron Tveit is going to sing this year,” said Blaine, a little glow starting in his eyes, “and all the flying monkeys from _Wicked_.”  They were both excited. Kurt selected and rejected wardrobe choices and stockpiled sunscreen. It finally felt as though all the drama from the last year was settling down and they could start doing the things they had always talked about doing in New York.

 

But then two nights before last year’s Pride Weekend, Blaine was late for dinner in the pouring rain and Kurt started saying things he never thought he would _ever_ say to Blaine.  By that Saturday, Blaine had moved out of the loft and disappeared from Kurt’s world and the last thing Kurt wanted to do was go into the streets of New York to hear the entire city repeat “Love Wins” and “love is love” for forty-eight hours.  He hid inside the loft instead, staring at Blaine’s piano and listening to the soundtrack from “Cats” on repeat.

 

So he wasn’t really surprised that this year’s Pride was coming up this weekend and neither one of them had mentioned it to the other.  They had been back in New York for two weeks settling into their new apartment and their new neighborhood.  Blaine had already met all of the neighbors in the building, the morning barista at the corner coffee shop and at least one dog walker he ran into every morning when he went running. Kurt had returned to his internship at Vogue.com and had been hired by the nursing home where he staged Peter Pan last year, to do a summer theater workshop with the residents. Blaine was teaching piano lessons and working on composing a couple of songs that he wouldn’t tell Kurt anything about yet. Things seemed to be fine.  Kurt didn’t want to raise painful history.

 

But Pride was almost here again, and they couldn’t ignore it completely. Kurt finally summoned the courage to talk about it one night after they were in bed, lying loosely tangled together in the dark.

 

“I know Pride didn’t work out last year for us.  But I really want to make it up to you this year, Blaine, because neither one of us has ever been to it in New York and I want to try to create some new memories about it for us.”

 

In the dark, Blaine turned his head away from where it had been pushed close to Kurt’s shoulder.  He didn’t say anything.  Kurt could sense rather than see him looking up at the ceiling. Uh-oh.

 

“Blaine?” Kurt said softly, “I’m really sorry we didn’t get to go to Pride last year.  You know that, right?”

 

Blaine nodded in the dark, his head still so close that Kurt could sense the motion.  But Blaine remained silent.  Kurt thought about apologizing again, but one of the things Kurt was learning to do was to give Blaine more space to talk about his feelings, instead of jumping in and assuming he knew what they were.  So he shifted a little, pulling back a bit on the mattress, and reached his hand out to try to find Blaine’s in the dark.  But Blaine pulled his hand away and pushed himself up against the pillows to a seated position, hands now folded on his lap, still silent. Kurt could feel the anxiety start to rise in his chest and just as he was about to apologize again, Blaine said quietly to the ceiling,

 

“I went to Pride last year Kurt.”

 

Kurt’s breath caught in his throat before he could control it. He could feel his heart start to race,and his eyes get tight and hot with tears in an instant. He pulled back his hand and clenched his fist tight against his chest.  Blaine could probably sense his distress in the dark, but Blaine kept looking at the ceiling and talking in a low voice.

 

“ I don’t think I need to apologize to you for what I did after we broke up, but I think I need to tell you about going to Pride.”

 

“Blaine?” Kurt’s’ voice cracked as he said it.  Blaine looked down from the ceiling then, and sighed.

 

“Kurt, I’m trying to be honest with you.  I’m not trying to hurt you.  But I’m not really sure whether you want me to upset you and tell you or lie and not tell you. Either way I’m feeling pretty defensive and a little freaked out right now.”

 

Kurt heaved out a heavy breath, then took another to calm himself.  He pushed himself up to a seated position next to Blaine, leaning against the headboard.  He thought for a moment about turning on the bedside light but decided against it.  He knew Blaine would find it easier to discuss this in darkness.  He made sure his voice was calm and even when he spoke again.

 

“I’m not upset with you.  Can I ask for two things before we talk about this?”

Blaine’s voice was the unsteady one now. Kurt could feel Blaine fidgeting next to him.

 

“Of course.”  

 

“First of all, can you try to keep in mind that if I get upset by what you tell me it’s really about me being upset that I put all of this into motion?  That I’m not upset with you or anything you did, but with myself for starting that fight?”

 

“Okaayy…” Blaine’s response was almost a question. Kurt continued,

  
“And second, will you please let me hold hands with you while we talk?  Because that helps me remember that you’re here now, with me, and that whatever you tell me happened in the past.”

 

Blaine heaved out a huge sigh, and immediately reached out to take Kurt’s hand into his.  “Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

 

“Yes,” Kurt was sure, especially now that he could feel Blaine’s fingers tangled with his own.  

 

Blaine started to talk then, his voice still slightly unsteady as he described going out into the streets on Pride weekend last year because he couldn’t stand being by himself, and he was too upset to talk to Artie about it, even though Artie was letting him sleep on his sofa until he found a new place.

 

“You know I was upset.   I’m over it--we’re over it--and I’m also not trying to justify anything.  I shouldn’t have to.  We broke up.  We weren’t a couple.  I’m just telling you how I was feeling then.”  Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand then, but Kurt kept still.

 

“The parade had already started and I couldn’t find a group to march with, so I went down to Hudson Street and watched it for an hour or so.  I was standing with some guys who had just graduated from Pratt and they invited me to follow them to PrideFest at the end of the parade route.  It was a street fair, like a carnival, and people were passing joints around, so I shared one with the Pratt boys. “

 

Kur interrupted then, without thinking, and said, “Blaine, you know smoking weed is terrible for your voice.”

 

Blaine sighed again.  “Yeah, Kurt. I know.  That wasn’t really my biggest concern that day. They wanted to go to Christopher Street and hang out and they invited me to go with them.  We tried to get into Uncle Charlie’s, but it was mobbed, so we wandered up to Chelsea where some people they knew had a loft.  It was late afternoon and I was pretty buzzed from the weed.  The loft was crowded and it was hot.  They were playing that techno music you hate, mostly The Prodigy, and some Moby, and people were dancing in the middle, but I got separated from the people I came with, so I went to a corner to get something drink.”

 

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand again.  This time, Kurt squeezed back, though tentatively, still feeling vulnerable.

 

“So I went to get a drink and they were handing out cups of pink stuff.  It was sweet and it didn’t taste like it had a lot of alcohol in it, so I drank it. Probably too much of it and probably too quickly.  When I turned around to go back and find the Pratt boys, I bumped into a guy.  He looked like one of those H and M models, tall, blonde, tan, blue-eyed.  I apologized, he smiled at me and said, ‘Well, hello.’”  

 

“We got to talking.  He said his name was Kell and he was visiting the city for Pride Weekend from Alabama.  He asked me to dance and when we started dancing, I could tell that drink had been strong, because I kept losing my balance.  Kell must have noticed.  He put his arm on my waist and we went to the hallway outside the loft.”

 

This time, Kurt squeezed, even though he could feel himself start to tense up as he listened. Blaine took a deep breath before continuing to speak.

 

“I was pretty dizzy by then and I held onto Kell for balance.  I leaned back against the wall and Kell leaned over.  We kissed for a little bit.  Kell invited me back to his airbnb which was somewhere in the Bronx and I staggered to the subway holding on to him for support." Kurt stopped breathing as he listened to Blaine's quiet voice. But he made himself remain silent. His heart was pounding.

 

Blaine paused and looked at Kurt in the dark.  “We got to the subway turnstiles just in time to see a train pull in. Kell swiped in first and turned around to see if I’d made it through.  But my card didn’t swipe and I jammed my stomach on the turnstyle.  And that kind of jolted me back to think about what I was doing. I stopped trying to get through the turnstile.   Kell caught my eye through the window and gave me a ‘whatever’ look.  The train pulled out and I climbed out of the subway.  I caught a cab back to Artie’s place and passed out when I got there.”

 

Blaine stopped talking then.  He was looking at the ceiling again, although Kurt could feel his thumb rubbing steady circles across Kurt’s wrist.

 

“Why didn’t you go with him?” Kurt asked softly.

 

Blaine heaved a sigh.  “I was _really_ pissed off at you Kurt.  Angry, and sad, and god, it felt like I was having some horrible recurring nightmare _all over again_ \--losing you, and wallowing in this dark hole.   _Again_.  But I had promised you I would never cheat on you again.”

 

Kurt startled a little at that answer.  “But Blaine, we were broken up.   _I_ broke us up.  You wouldn’t have been cheating on me…”

 

“I know,” said Blaine.  “But it felt the same.  I felt like I felt after I was with Eli. Just, you know, _wrong_. Like I was hurting myself for no reason.  And I never want to feel like that again.  It wasn’t worth it, even if you never found out.”

 

Neither one of them said any more, but as they sat in the dark together, they moved closer and closer to each other, quiet, breathing in tandem, until they were wound around each other, Kurt’s legs twined together with Blaine’s, still holding hands, chests so close they could hear each other’s hearts beat. Kurt was half asleep when Blaine said,

 

“I like your idea though. Of making new memories. If you still want to.”

 

“I still want to,” said Kurt, pushing his face into Blaine’s curls and breathing in his scent.

 

That Saturday dawned sunny and hot.  Blaine and Kurt watched the Pride parade, even marching with it a few blocks.  They watched the New York Gay City Men’s Chorus  perform a memorial concert for the Pulse Nightclub victims. Blaine got his face painted with rainbow hearts by a drag queen in stiletto metallic heels and a blue wig.  He kept telling Kurt he looked amazing in his new flowered shorts and tank top, which made Kurt preen a little every time.  They held hands.  They were careful with each other, each aware of how fragile the other was feeling. Kurt thought that was alright.  Pride had started forty years ago as a way for the LGBT community to take care of itself when no one else would. The recent violence in Orlando proved that they still needed to take care of each other.

 

And there really wasn't anything he wanted to do more right now than take care of Blaine and what they had together. Even when it was hard, or messy, or complicated. Or it hurt a bit.

 

The whole day was a carnival of sight and sound.   By early evening, they were both exhausted and Blaine suggested they pick up some takeout and head home.  Kurt could hear music coming from somewhere. He pulled Blaine toward a little park near the subway station, where a busker was playing guitar and singing and a few kids had set up a stand to sell lemonade and cookies.

 

“Kurt?” Blaine looked at him, curious, as Kurt pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and whispered in the busker’s ear as he handed it to him.  The guy smiled and started playing his guitar. Kurt pulled Blaine into his arms to dance with him, as the sun sank behind the city buildings, and the busker sang clear and loud,

 

_I think about the years I spent just passing through_

_I’d like to have the time I lost and give it back to you_

_But you just smile and take my hand_

_You’ve been there you understand_

_It’s all part of a grander plan that is coming true_

 

_Every long lost dream led me to where you are_

_Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars_

_Pointing me on my way into your loving arms_

_This much I know is true_

_That God blessed the broken road_

_That led me straight to you._

As the song ended, Kurt looked at Blaine, smiling at him, and he said, “A long time ago you made me a promise that you would kiss me wherever and whenever I want. Do you remember?”

 

Blaine’s eyes were wide and full, looking straight into Kurt’s.  They were full of love.

 

“Of course, I remember, Kurt. Of course.”  Blaine’s voice was low, but fierce, and he never took his eyes off of Kurt’s face.

 

Kurt kissed him then, in the park, in front of the busker and the children and the passers-by, and the strangers headed to the subway,  and they walked home together, still holding hands.


	4. Let's Go Up On the Roof  (Prompt: Outdoor Sporting Event)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a Karaoke Competition on the roof! Kurt and Blaine throw themselves a housewarming party. And pretty much everyone they know sings. Game on.
> 
> (What, you really thought Kurt would agree to go to a Mets’ game? Please.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song “Up On the Roof” by The Drifters. Bonus this week: We’ve included a bunch of RPF music references for fun. See how many you can spot! Answers are posted at the end of the Chapter.
> 
> Written for the Klaine Summer Challenge 2016 on tumblr, week 4.

Blaine was the one who wanted to throw a party.  Kurt had known for a long time that he didn’t really need other people as much as Blaine did. In fact, Kurt needed to keep a little distance between himself and the rest of the world to feel most comfortable. He would have been fine with spending the summer going to his internship at Vogue.com, producing the wheelchair version of “Starlight Express” he was in charge of at the nursing home and coming home to eat dinner with Blaine every night alone.  Maybe they could join friends here and there for a meal or a night out.  But Blaine never seemed happier than when there was a crowd and food and music and he could watch Kurt from across the room. And, Kurt had to admit, watching Blaine watch him from across the room was nice every now and then.  So they were throwing a housewarming party on the roof of their building.

 

Kurt had set up a grill and stocked everything from ground beef to portobello mushrooms.  Everyone was bring a dish to share anyway, a tribute to their old Monday-night loft potluck dinners. Blaine ran an extension cord out the window and up the fire escape so that he could set up his electric keyboard, and the bluetooth speakers would work  fine for background music the rest of the time.  There were some advantages to living on the top floor as they carted up coolers filled with ice and a whole watermelon from their apartment, although, as Kurt wryly pointed out, they had had to lug all the ice and the watermelon up five flights of stairs just to get them to the apartment.

 

The late afternoon was sunny, and there was a slight breeze, which helped dispel the heat rising off of the tar on the rooftop. Elliott arrived first with his new boyfriend, Mateo, and Rachel and Jesse came next. A few people from NYADA showed up, Santana and Brittany appeared carrying a tray of quesadillas and homemade salsa.   Isabelle showed up with a real Chinese sun parasol and a broad-brimmed hat, as well as her new boyfriend, Martin, who was a banker of some sort, and looked incredibly pale and uncomfortable in cargo shorts and a polo shirt. Blaine had invited all of neighbors in the building, including Mrs. Pizzone, who lived alone next door to them on the fifth floor, but only the downstairs neighbors, Marina and Henry, agreed to come.  Marina and Henry were a young couple who seemed to be in their late twenties.  Kurt thought Henry was unfriendly in the hallway. He mentioned it to Blaine, who just shrugged.

 

“It’s a good idea to include them Kurt,“ said Blaine. “I mean, we have a piano, and we’re always singing scales and duets, and, well,” he looked sideways at Kurt, “our bedroom is right above theirs.”

 

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

 

Baine just grinned and continued packing beer and lemonade cans into the cooler.  

 

Artie texted from the street and they corralled Elliott to help Kurt bring Artie up while Blaine followed with his wheelchair.

 

The roof was packed before long and everyone was milling about eating and chatting when Rachel decided they all needed to sing.  And keep score.  

 

“I’m getting ready for the NYADA fall showcase,” she announced to the group, as only Rachel could, “and I could use the competition to help inspire me to work harder.”  Blaine just laughed, and found a pad of paper that they cut into squares and a bunch of pens from Kurt’s desk.  He put Kurt’s old top hat on the card table next to the charctuerie platter that Isabelle and Martin had brought and announced that the voting would be anonymous, on a scale of one to ten, and that everyone had to sing _something_. Marina and Henry looked slightly horrified and Martin actually looked queasy at the idea of singing in public, but Blaine assured them it was a friendly crowd and they could participate in a group number.  Then he turned the keyboard over to Elliott, as the first contestant.

 

“I’m in an Adam Lambert kind of mood,” Elliott announced, and launched into a very loud rendition of “Whataya Want From Me,” which started them all off. Blaine took over the keyboard when Elliott finished, and he played whatever anyone wanted him to. Jesse sang a round of the Cole Porter classic “Anything Goes,” and even threw in some tap dancing steps.  Artie insisted on singing some old boy band number called “That Girl” which had Blaine laughing as he fumbled through the notes.

 

By this point, the scoring system was under debate, no one seemed to be keeping track of the votes anyway and only Rachel seemed to care.

 

Santana then convinced Blaine to join her in a duet of Amy Winehouse’s version of “Valerie.”

 

“You didn’t get to sing it with us that year we did it for Glee Club,” she said. “It’s our turn to show them how it’s done Anderson.”

 

Kurt looked at Blaine and Santana singing as he perched against the roof ledge where Brittany was standing with a plate of food in one hand, and a beer in the other .

 

_Won't you come on over_

_Stop making a fool out of me_

_Why don't you come on over Valerie?_

 

Blaine was looking at Santana from the piano bench and she was making up dance steps as she sang.  They sounded wonderful together. It made Kurt smile to hear it.

 

“They’re pretty good, aren’t they?” he asked Brittany. “Do you think we should sing something next?”

 

“Of course not,” Brittany answered decisively.  “You don’t sing live, it ruins your aura.”  Kurt looked at her.  It was a Brittany thing to say.  No point in arguing with her. He just smiled, and said,

 

“You’re probably right…”

 

After Blaine and Santana finished, Isabelle convinced Martin to sing “I Don’t Need Anything But You” from _Annie_ next. Kurt smiled a bit at how completely off-key Martin was. He  peered over Isabelle’s shoulder, reading the lyrics off her phone, his hands stuffed in his pockets, feet shuffling uncomfortably throughout the whole song.  He would only have agreed to sing publicly if he really liked Isabelle.  That pleased Kurt for some reason.

 

Rachel insisted on singing the incredibly slow and depressing “Mama Who Bore Me” from _Spring Awakening_ , and Blaine then made everyone sing along while he played “Wig in a Box” from _Hedwig and the Angry Inch_ to lighten things up again even though Rachel complained that a group number wasn’t appropriate for a competition.

 

“He’s in love with that musical right now,” Kurt told Brittany.  “I want to try to get tickets this summer, while the star from that TV show is playing Hedwig.”

 

Brittany just nodded and said, “That makes sense.  Blaine is just like her.” Kurt thought about reminding Brittany that the actor who played Hedwig was a man, but then he shook his head and turned his attention back to Blaine, who was surrounded by their friends, all singing

 

_Wear it up_

_Let it down_

_This is the best way that I've found_

_To be the best you've ever seen_

 

...and watching Kurt across the roof. Blaine raised an eyebrow at Kurt and nodded towards him, an invitation to come over, but Kurt was content on his side of the roof.  He smiled at Blaine and shook his head slightly, taking another sip of his beer.  Henry, the downstairs neighbor came up next to him then with a plate of chicken wings and offered them.

 

“Do all your friends sing like this all the time?” Henry asked.  He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look unfriendly either.

 

“Umm,” said Kurt, taking a wing but feeling suddenly nervous, “yeah, pretty much.  I’m really sorry if the piano is bothering you.  We can try to play when you aren’t home, if you let us know---”

 

“No,” said Henry, leaning against the ledge next to Kurt, “You guys are pretty good about not playing late at night, and we’re both working during the day.  It’s fine. Someone was playing something classical the other night and Marina loved it.”

 

Kurt nodded. “That was Blaine, practicing.  He’s teaching kids piano lessons this summer, and he likes to make sure he knows exactly how to play whatever he’s giving for a lesson this week.”

 

Marina joined them then, and Kurt chatted with her as well. Marina was a graduate student in Psychology at NYU and Henry worked for an advertising firm as a media buyer _._ Blaine was still playing music and the NYADA students were getting competitive with each other. Kurt was happier on his side of the roof, and besides, Blaine was right: it was probably best to be on good terms with the neighbors.  A little later he was encouraged when Marina and Henry even joined in on the final group number, Abba’s _Dancing Queen_.  

 

Later that night, after everyone left, Blaine turned to Kurt, who was already filling a trash bag with cups and other trash.

 

“Was it okay? Blaine asked. “The party, I mean?” Blaine knew Kurt didn’t need to throw a party and might not even have _wanted_ to throw a party.  He looked at Kurt hard, the traffic noise from the street wafting up, and the sun almost completely fallen behind the city skyline.

 

“Of course it was okay,” Kurt said.  “I love watching you work a room--you know that.”  Blaine’s shoulders loosened a little as he kept gazing at Kurt.

 

“You didn’t sing anything,” said Blaine.  “You were the only one who didn’t.”

 

“I know.” Kurt shrugged.  “It was something Brittany said.  About me ruining my aura if I sang.  I don’t know. You know Brittany. She says stuff that makes no sense and all sorts of sense at the same time. It’s fine. I didn’t need to sing.”  

 

“Will you sing with me now?” Blaine asked, and he ran his thumb across Kurt’s wrist again, looking right at Kurt, smiling. “Or will it ruin your aura?”

 

Kurt put down the bag of trash, and took Blaine’s hand in his and smiled.

 

“I think my aura will be alright,” he said.  They headed back to the keyboard, where Blaine sat and looked expectantly up at Kurt.

 

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked. Kurt caught his breath because even after all this time, Blaine could look at up him while sitting at a keyboard and it always rendered Kurt breathless for a tiny moment.

 

“Something quiet,” said Kurt. “I haven’t warmed up my voice, and I don’t want to strain it. Also,” he leaned into Blaine a bit on the piano bench they had brought up to the roof, “ I feel like we just made friends  with the downstairs neighbors.  Let’s not screw that up just yet.”

 

Blaine chuckled and set his hands on the keys.  “Okay,” he agreed.  Let’s sing that _Great Big World_ song. It’s about New York.  For some reason, I keep coming back to that one.”

 

As he played the opening chords and sang the the lyrics, Kurt leaned into him more, and looked out across the city at dusk and sang with him:

 

_You say love is what you put into it_

_You say that I'm losing my will_

_Don't you know that you're all that I think about_

_You make up a half of the whole_

 

_If only New York wasn't so far away_

_I promise the city won't get in our way_

_When you're scared and alone,_

_Just know that I'm already home_

 

They  had to make several trips downstairs to clean up all of the trash and put the food away.  Blaine stacked garbage bags in the hall, and at one point, Mrs. Pizzone came out, apparently disturbed by their footsteps on the stairs.  She looked pointedly at the bags stacked in the hallway and said to Blaine and Kurt, “You aren’t planning on leaving that there, are you?”

 

Blaine said, “No, Ma’am,” and Kurt promised he would take it all down the dumpsters within the hour.

 

She looked at them two of them sharply, and asked, “Are you from the Midwest?”

 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Blaine said, surprised. “We’re from Ohio. How did you guess?”

 

“Hmmm,” she replied. “Too polite to be from here.You two make a lot of noise singing, don’t you?”

 

Blaine blushed and started to apologize, but Mrs. Pizzone had already stepped back into her apartment and was closing the door.  As they stood there, unsure what to do, Mrs. Pizzone paused and called out to them, “Too bad you don’t sing any Frank Sinatra.”

 

Later, after removing the offending trashbags from the hallway, Blaine flipped through sheet music until he found what he was looking for and sat down to sing,

 

_Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away_  

_If you can use some exotic booze_  

_There's a bar in far Bombay_

  _Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away_

 

“Really, Blaine?” Kurt asked as he finished up the dishes in the kitchen, “Could you be more obvious? Are you planning on doing “Witchcraft” next?”

 

Blaine just smiled at him and said, “There’s more than one way to score a few points, Kurt.”

 

End Notes/RPF Musical References:

 

_Elliott (played by Adam Lambert) sings an Adam Lambert hit, “Whadaya Want From Me”_

 

_Jonathan Groff (Jesse) performed “Anything Goes” (with tap dance) at the 2012 Miscast concert_

 

_Kevin McHale (Artie) started his career as a member of the boy band NLT with whom he wrote and performed the song “That Girl.”_

 

_Santana did perform “Valerie” for Glee Club, but Naya Rivera and Darren Criss also performed it as a duet in a couple of different concerts, including the Kids’ Inaugural Concert in 2013_

 

_Lea Michele (Rachel) sang “Mama Who Bore me” in the Tony-award winning Broadway production of  "Spring Awakening"_

 

_Sarah Jessica Parker (Isabelle) starred in the Broadway hit “Annie” as a child and sang “I Don’t Need Anything But You”_

 

_Blaine singing “Wig in a Box” and his obsession with “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” is an obvious reference to Darren Criss’s run in the Broadway show in 2015 and his upcoming role in the 2016-17 National Tour_

 

_Darren Criss appeared in the music video of A Great Big World’s song, “Almost Home”_

 

_Darren Criss performed “Come Fly With Me” and “Witchcraft” by Frank Sinatra on New Year’s Eve, 2014 with Michael Feinstein in concert at the Rainbow Room in New York_

 

_And Kurt not singing is a reference to actor Chris Colfer’s admission in many interviews that he hates to sing live in public_

  



	5. Fire Island (Prompt: Fireworks)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Fourth of July weekend, and Kurt and Blaine have plans for a romantic weekend on Fire Island. Except it’s Fourth of July weekend. On Fire Island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're gay newlyweds. A trip to Fire Island has to be amazing. Right?

 

 

Blaine was surprised that Kurt was so excited about going to a “share house” with a bunch of strangers for the Fourth of July weekend. He knew that Kurt’s eyes narrowed and focused in crowds, seeking out Blaine at regular intervals when they were separated, as though making sure Blaine was still there. Blaine knew that even though Kurt would have scoffed at the suggestion that he needed to feel tethered to Blaine to feel safer in places with people who could jostle him or push him by accident, those places made the memory rise in Kurt’s mind suddenly and unwelcomed every time, “ _maybe not by accident, maybe they mean it, like in that alley, like back in high school_ ”. Kurt, _his_ Kurt, didn’t want to get on a crowded ferry boat or share a house with people he had never met in a place they had never been to where the main activities for the weekend seemed to be drinking and going to the beach.

 

But, Kurt came home from Vogue.com at the end of the hot, humid, last Thursday in June and told Blaine that Isabelle had a summer share in a rental house on Fire Island and she had asked them to come out for the long Fourth of July weekend.

 

“It’s a beach cottage, Blaine, two blocks from the ocean, and we’ll have our own room. Isabelle says you can walk into town for restaurants and bars. There’s a grill in the backyard and it sounds like it would be a really nice break from the city.”  Kurt dropped his messenger bag inside the door and was toeing off his shoes.  Blaine could see not only the droop in his hair from the humidity but the bright look in his eyes as he talked.  Even when Kurt didn’t say things out loud, Blaine had always known how to listen to him in other ways. If Kurt wanted to go to Fire Island, even if it didn’t quite make sense to Blaine, that was fine.

 

“Sure,” he said lightly, “sounds like fun.”

 

So, the following Friday, they caught the commuter train from the City to Sayville and made the 7 p.m. ferry. Kurt leaned against the railing of the boat, watching Long Island recede with Blaine behind him forming a protective barrier from the rest of the people onboard.  Their duffel bags filled with clothes and food flanked them. Kurt wore his new red boatneck sweater made of the softest cotton Blaine had ever felt.  It drove Blaine slightly crazy as he hooked his chin over Kurt’s shoulder and put his arms on the railing on either side of Kurt.

 

The height difference made it a little challenging for Blaine but the soft cotton under his chin and against his throat and the smell of Kurt’s aftershave mixed with the salt air of the ocean--and really, just the sensation of being this close to Kurt in public--all made up for it.  They didn’t usually do this in public, linger so close to each other, and for a moment, Blaine closed his eyes took a deep breath and was grateful for Fire Island, Isabelle and the other men on the boat standing close to each other, holding hands, or even making out like those two near the restroom. Kurt, however, glared at the two kissing men and declared them tacky when he saw them.  

 

But Blaine was grateful to them because they made it safe for him to stand loosely embracing Kurt and tucking his face into the soft cotton of his sweater for the short boat ride and even if they both knew Kurt was not some delicate little flower who needed his husband to protect him, they both knew that Blaine loved to take care of Kurt and that Kurt didn’t mind being taken care of if that meant he wasn’t jostled by other passengers.

 

It had been a long month of moving, and unpacking and adjusting in a tiny apartment with not enough storage space. In addition to getting used to city noises, new work schedules and the new neighborhood, Blaine was getting ready for his upcoming audition next week for NYU’s  a cappella group, The Vocaholics. He had been over at the university’s rehearsal studios for late hours all week, hoping to spare the neighbors from having to listen to him practice, and he hadn’t really seen Kurt much since Tuesday.  So tonight, on the boat, Kurt’s soft red sweater, the sea air and the heady closeness of Kurt himself were all a little intoxicating.

 

“I’ve missed you,” he said, close into Kurt’s ear.

 

Kurt smiled, turned his head just a bit, then pressed back into Blaine’s chest, still holding on to the railing.  “Me too,” he replied. “It’s been a long week, huh?”

 

“Yes,” said Blaine.  “We can make up for it later…”

 

“Of course,” said Kurt, pressing back a little harder, maybe pressing his hips back in a slightly suggestive way. “It’s Fire Island, Blaine. I have a feeling ‘making up for things’ is probably highly encouraged.”

 

Blaine laughed then and asked, “Wait a minute… is this a kink?  Do you have some wicked plan to take me to Fire Island and have your way with me.?”

 

Kurt smiled, that smile he reserved for just Blaine, and said, “ _Mayyyybeee_ ….” Blaine could feel the tingle run up his spine in anticipation.

 

“Excellent,” he said, and he held Kurt close to him there at the railing for the rest of the ferry ride.

 

Isabelle and Martin met them at the ferry, trailing two little red wagons, the same kind Blaine had as a little boy.  They piled in the luggage, Isabelle kissed them both hello and pointed out the few shops and cafes as they walked back to the house. The cottage was on a cross path, two-storied with a second floor deck protruding from its shingled walls.  Blaine put the duffel bag with food in the kitchen, and lugged the other two bags up the stairs.

 

“FIrst room on the left,” called out Isabelle as she started to mix up gin and tonics for them all.

 

The first room on the left had old-fashioned wallpaper with tiny pink rosebuds on it, dark wood furniture from the 1970’s and a queen-sized bed with a worn white comforter which looked as though it had seen better days.  Blaine ducked his head under the slanting ceiling and unzipped Kurt’s duffel and, sure enough, he had packed a set of their own high thread-count sheets.  Blaine silently blessed Kurt’s refusal  to leave home unprepared for any fabric emergency.  Blaine pulled the comforter off the bed and discovered that there weren’t any sheets on the mattress anyway.  He put their sheets on while listening to Kurt chat with Isabelle and Martin out on the back deck. The sheets smelled of the organic lavender fabric softener Kurt used on them, and he ran his hand over them appreciatively and then stuffed the pillows into fresh pillow cases before heading back downstairs.  He glanced back at the room as he headed down the stairs, already anticipating returning later with Kurt and kissing him everywhere. Slowly.  Fire Island was _such_ a good idea.

 

Except that an hour later as they finished a meal of grilled chicken,roasted corn and fresh strawberries, Isabelle’s cellphone rang.  Her eyes widened as she spoke., Then she hung up and turned to the three of them.

 

“We have a bit of a situation,” she said.  “The other people in the share invited two guests which would be fine except that I invited John and Cora for the same room and they never got back to me.   I assumed they weren’t coming but they’re at the ferry landing.”

 

Kurt and Blaine looked at each other.  Ten minutes later, John and Cora arrived and piled their duffels and a couple of sleeping bags into what Blaine had thought was his and Kurt’s room.  Four other people showed up around ten p.m.:  the other couple in the summer share and _their_ guests The vibe of the house swung completely, from “quiet, laid-back, relaxed summer evening,” to “party hard.” The blender in the kitchen whirred with margaritas and someone named Eric (or was it Derek?) was rummaging through the refrigerator looking through the food Kurt had so carefully prepared and packed for tomorrow’s picnic.

 

“Hey,” Erick/Derek called to the crowd, “Who brought the hummus?  Can we have some? I’m starving… I’ll replace it tomorrow.”  He was already pulling the container out and opening the bag of pita strips on the counter before Kurt could grind out his consent through clenched teeth. “Hey, awesome!” said Eric/Derek, “There’s cold cuts too! Who wants a sandwich?”  Kurt looked at Blaine. Blaine looked at Kurt.  Neither one of them said anything as Martin and Isabelle came back in looking for the gin.

 

Blaine pulled Kurt outside as the house got noisier and someone in the group lit a joint.  The tiny yard was dark, but the neighbors next door were out in their yard also and the noise filtered over.  Blaine saw Kurt heave a sigh.

 

“Let’s go downtown and check it out,” Blaine said.  “There’s nothing we can do about this place being kind of loud and crowded, but we’ve never been to Fire Island.  It’s still an adventure. C’mon, maybe we can find a place to go dancing.” He ran a finger over the soft cotton on Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt grinned.

 

“Fine. Dancing might make up for it.”

 

 They made their way back to the little town and saw that they were not alone.  People milled about, hugging each other like long lost friends, chatting, laughing and strolling hand-in-hand.  The cafes looked packed, with men in brightly colored muscle shirts spilling out into the street.  One played loud techno music to an enthusiastic crowd dancing in front.

 

Dancing did make up for the crowd at Isabelle’s, at least for a while.  The club they ended up was crowded, but they joined the dancers in front.  Blaine loved dancing with Kurt. He could feel Kurt close up behind him, the red sweater now off somewhere and Kurt’s long thighs pressed up behind Blaine’s.  The heavy bass pounded through the air, and Blaine could feel Kurt’s every movement behind him. They had been dancing together since high school, both onstage and off, and each knew intuitively how the other one moved, and how best to fit together.

  
But this turned out to be the problem.  After about an hour of dancing, breathing in Kurt’s scent, turning in his arms and running his hands over Kurt’s torso, while Kurt worked his hips, oh god, _Kurt’s hips_ ,  Blaine was pretty much done with being in public.  Kurt gave him, a half-smile as he moved to the music and inched his hands down Blaine’s ass.  Blaine just wanted to be alone with Kurt in a dark room with pink rosebud wallpaper, stretched between lavender-smelling sheets. He looked around for a way out.

 

Some guy leaned over just then, away from his own dance partner who was stripping off a very tight fishnet tank top, and tapped Blaine on the shoulder.  It startled him a bit, and when he turned, the guy leaned in close, smelling of sweat and clove cigarettes, slung an arm around Blaine’s waist and said straight into Blaine’s ear, over the noise of the song playing, “There’s a back room if you need it. Through the bar, down the hall and across from the men’s room.”  He lifted his eyebrows at Blaine, nodded at Kurt and turned back to his now shirtless partner.

 

Blaine turned back to Kurt, his eyes still wide, and discovered that Kurt had stopped dancing, had his arms crossed over his chest and was standing completely still, staring at Blaine, and then over at the guy who had now turned away.  The look in Kurt’s eye was not a good one.

 

“C’mon,” said Blaine, jerking his head, because he knew Kurt couldn’t hear him over the music, and he pulled Kurt by the hand, grabbed his sweater from the stool, and led them out of the little yard and into the cool of the street.

 

“What the _hell_ was that?” Kurt asked, pulling his hand out of Blaine’s as they walked back toward the cottage.  It was almost midnight, and the broad boardwalk  was still filled with people, though everyone seemed drunker and most were in couples.

 

“He was just telling me about the back room,” Blaine said. He stopped walking so Kurt would have to look at him.  That Kurt was acting possessive and a little defensive about it was flattering, but not what Blaine wanted tonight.  He stepped in closer to Kurt, glancing around out of habit, and then pulled Kurt to him to settle his arms around Kurt’s waist. “He didn’t proposition us, if that’s what you mean, Kurt. I think he just saw us dancing and thought maybe we needed…”

 

Kurt shed his pissed-off, jealous look and laughed out loud, surprising Blaine, who would never have put “ back room in a gay bar” and “Kurt laughing” into the same sentence. Kurt’s reaction to Fire Island was _not_ anything Blaine could have anticipated, but this was a kink he could _definitely_ work with.  Then Kurt surprised Blaine even more saying, “We’ve never been in one.  What do you think they’re like?”

 

“Well, it can’t be more crowded than Isabelle’s,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hand and leading him back to the dancing crowd.  They wormed through the crowd and into the bar, excusing themselves and appraising the sweaty crowd.  Blaine spied the hallway and pulled Kurt into it, though a wormhole of knowing looks and murmurs.  They edged along the wall to the open doorway across from the men’s room and looked in to find a staircase leading downward.  Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand as they descended.

 

They found themselves in a dark room lit only by a flashing strobe light.  It was less crowded than the bar but still held at least two dozen men.  There appeared to be cubicles along the far wall each with a hole in the door at waist height, but there was still plenty of action in the center of the room, with a few circles of men facing each other, their hands not visible and a group of men bent over some type of table, each mounted from behind by another man.

 

A shirtless man with leather cuffs approached them.  He shouted over the blaring music, “Hi, babies.  ‘Care for some daddy action?”  

 

Blaine looked at Kurt, and saw him looking back at Blaine, wide-eyed and a little stunned at the scene, and responded, “Uh, no thanks, thought this was the men’s room.”  

 

“It IS,” the man called to them as they ran up the stairs.

 

They stood outside the bar for a minute, looking at each in silence.  But as they headed back to the cottage, Blaine took Kurt’s hand and murmured in Kurt’s ear about what they could do in a back room in front of everyone. Kurt just smirked, blushed in the dark and squeezed Blaine’s hand tighter.

 

They got back to the cottage flushed and desperate to be alone, only to find Isabelle and Martin chatting with John and Cora in the living room and more people from the other summer share on the second story deck.  Kurt dragged Blaine upstairs, hissing in his ear, “They’re still talking downstairs, we just have to be fast and quiet.” That was enough to have Blaine follow quickly, breath hitching in anticipation.  He just needed to get Kurt out of those incredibly tight white jeans, get his hands on him… Blaine had pushed his way down a writhing  Kurt’s naked frame, settled between his legs and was about to sink his mouth down… when John and Cora came stomping up the back stairs. Blaine pushed himself back up next to Kurt, pulled the sheets up over both of them and closed his eyes just as the couple came through the door, spread out their sleeping bags and started getting ready for bed.

 

Blaine lay there in the dark, Kurt spooned up behind him feeling Kurt hard against him quivering slightly, though whether with laughter or with rage Blaine wasn’t quite sure.  He sighed.  Fire Island was really not what he had expected it to be.

 

The next morning Blaine woke to find Kurt already out of bed and gone, and John and Cora still sleeping on the floor.  Blaine showered, dressed and headed down to the kitchen to find Kurt holding a mug of coffee and looking forlornly at the remains of the bagels and spreads he had brought for breakfast.

 

Kurt handed Blaine another mug and said, “I tried to save you a pumpernickel one.  Or even sesame. But they were like sharks, Blaine, or _wolves_ , or some other kind of unstoppable wild animals, I don’t even know….”  Blaine took a sip of coffee and smiled.

 

“It’s okay, Kurt, I can make do with what’s left.”

 

“But,” Kurt looked at him apologetically, his eyes almost green in the morning sun, “Blaine the only thing they left is the cinnamon-raisin.  You _hate_ cinnamon-raisin.”

 

Blaine laughed  at how topsy-turvy this entire weekend had become and pulled Kurt in to kiss him, the taste of him slightly salty and bitter from the coffee.  He asked him,

“Kurt, what was it about coming out here that sounded like fun to you?  Because you know I will always go on an  adventure with you, anywhere, but this--being crowded into a house with strangers, having all the food you brought eaten, and having our bedtime activities ummm... _interrupted_ by a straight couple in sleeping bags--what was it that made you think you would actually _like_ any of this?”

 

“Because it’s Fire Island,” said Kurt immediately, as though that explained everything.

 

Blaine led him out to the deck  ignoring the dirty dishes and empty beer bottles from last night, and sat them both down on the wicker love seat.  He took another sip of coffee, and asked, “What is it about Fire Island Kurt?”

 

“When I was a kid I used to watch that show, _Will and Grace_ , remember?”  Blaine nodded.  He had watched it too.   Kurt continued talking, contemplating his coffee mug,

 

“Well they lived in New York and they were always talking about going to Fire Island. And even though I didn’t really know what being gay meant back then, I knew I was more like Will and Jack than I was like the other boys at school.”  Blaine said nothing, knowing what Kurt meant.  “So, when I got older and googled it, I found out that Fire Island was a real place.” He took Blaine’s hand. “I guess I had this idea in my head that it would be some sort of romantic beach getaway, just for men, that it would feel safe. It’s been on my bucket list for years now.” Kurt put down his coffee mug and pulled his phone out to show Blaine, number 31, “ _Take Blaine to Fire Island for a romantic weekend._ ”

 

“And does it feel safe?” Blaine asked.  

 

“It feels safe,” replied Kurt, “it just doesn’t feel _private_.”  

 

Blaine laughed again and kissed Kurt, saying, “Well then, we’ve got to figure out how to get to the romantic part.  It doesn’t seem to be working for us.  You better take me out for breakfast somewhere before we go to the beach.  I _hate_ cinnamon-raisin.”

 

The breakfast place was crowded.  The beach was crowded.  When they went back to the cottage mid-afternoon, because Kurt had to get out of the sun and Blaine hoped the house might be empty, they found the others smoking weed in the living room. Blaine insisted on leaving because his audition was next week and he didn’t want to expose his voice to the smoke.

 

They showed, changed, wandered back downtown and had an early dinner.

 

“We need to talk about the romantic part again,”  said Blaine as Kurt paid the bill, “because last night is _not_ to be repeated and we need to figure something else out. ”

 

“Agreed,” said Kurt, giving the waiter his card, “let’s brainstorm.  The house is probably a  no-go. What about the beach? After dark? We could bring that awful comforter down.”

 

“Kurt, what part of what we’ve seen here so far makes you think there won’t be a ton of other guys down on the beach hooking up all night?” Blaine smiled at Kurt. Kurt frowned in return. “Also, _sand_ , Kurt.  Too much sand.”

 

“You’re right. This is kind of crazy. It’s like a giant island-sized gay grindr search, only there’s no place to actually _hook up_.”

 

“Well,” said Blaine, a gleam in his eye, “There _is_ a place we found here just for hooking up. One that you seemed like you might be into.” He looked at Kurt expectantly.

 

Kurt looked at him, turned beet red and shook his head.  “No, Blaine, I am not having sex in a back room. I’m _not_.  I don’t think I could do that.”  

 

But Blaine, listening again to what Kurt was telling him without words, took his hand and said, “Let’s try to make something work.”

 

Three hours later they were on the last ferry back to the City, duffle bags at their feet, making out on the boat just like the couple Kurt had made fun of the night before.  They had just come from the bar with the back room and Blaine had led Kurt in this time, not even stopping to let either one of them think about it.  He pushed Kurt against a dark wall, kissed him hard and began to undo the zipper on Kurt’s linen shorts, the sounds of other men in other groupings all around them, when Blaine realized that _he_ couldn’t do this in a back room.  He zipped Kurt’s shorts and whispered in his ear, “Can we please go home now?” Kurt nodded frantically, and they made their way back to the cottage, texted Isabelle that they had to go, collected their luggage, leaving Kurt’s sheets on the bed when a horrified Kurt gasped, “Ohmigod, Blaine, someone’s been in them!”  

 

Blaine responded, “Leave them,” and they barely made it onto the boat.

 

Then Blaine had Kurt mostly to himself.  The Saturday night boat was almost empty  They leaned against the railing, kissing all the way back to the dock in Sayville.  It was quiet and the moon lit the waves, which was definitely romantic. They felt like they were back in high school when they both had curfews, Kurt’s dad insisted they leave the door to Kurt’s room open, and they would spend hours making out and pushing under each other’s clothes with shaking hands, uncertain of how far to go.

 

They sat a sensible distance apart in the commuter train back to the City and in back of the cab, looking at each other the whole time. By the time they had hauled their bags up the five flights and into the quiet of their apartment, Blaine couldn’t stand it any more.

 

He returned to the zipper on Kurt’s shorts and pulled them off along with Kurt’s briefs, then lifted Kurt’s tank top over his head.  Kurt pulled at Blaine’s pants equally needily. In a few seconds they were in bed, the fresh sheets clean, lavender-scented and crisp, and Kurt gasped and clawed at Blaine. Blaine, relieved that they were finally alone, wrapped his arms around Kurt and murmured, “ _This_ part should be on everyone’s bucket list.”

 

The next day they slept in, and then Kurt went out for more bagels, and brought them back, and they ate in bed, and ended up staying there almost all day, until late afternoon. After napping and kissing and doing nothing other than enjoy the privacy, Blaine turned to Kurt and said, “We’re missing the fireworks.”

 

Kurt smiled, and said, “It’s fine.  We can probably see some from the roof here if we go up when it gets dark.”

 

And they did.  After it got dark, Kurt and Blaine showered and pulled on some clothes and went up to the roof of their building where they could find a quiet corner, a little distance away from the other tenants who were up there, and they watched fireworks explode over the East River. When it was all over, and they headed back downstairs to the quiet of their new home, Kurt turned the lock on the door and turned to Blaine and said, “I like it so much more here than on Fire Island.”

 

“Are you sorry we went?” asked Blaine, but Kurt just shook his head no, and said, “Are you kidding? It worked out perfectly.  I took you to Fire Island and we ended up having a really romantic weekend,” and with that he turned off the lights.  

 


	6. Week Six: Overheated (Prompt: Pool)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New York is in a heatwave, and Blaine has just gotten some difficult news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: David Hockney is a British artist whose works are exhibited at both MOMA and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. His pool images can be seen [HERE](https://www.google.com/search?q=hockney+pool+images&espv=2&rlz=1C1TSNF_enUS600US600&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiph6qH3-PNAhUIgj4KHaU_A4UQsAQIHQ&biw=1821&bih=889&dpr=0.75) . There is also a link to the image of Blaine’s favorite in the story.

Two things happened in the  second week of July.  First, New York City experienced a heat wave.  The temperature didn’t dip below ninety degrees for five days in a row. Second, Blaine’s mother called to tell him that she had just sold the house he grew up in and was moving to a condominium in Westerville.

 

The heat wave made Kurt tense and cranky and slightly snappish.  The news from Pam made Blaine sad and sullen and moody.  It was not a good combination.

 

Ohio summers were hot, but New York summers got hot and humid and smelled in a way that Kurt still wasn’t used to. Their apartment building didn’t have air conditioning, and the air on the fifth floor was stifling.

 

After two days of struggling to get more power out of the aged and undersized window air conditioning unit that came with the apartment, Kurt called his dad for a consult and then went on Amazon to order a high-powered, whisper-silent unit.  Blaine came home from NYU, where he was taking two summer classes, late in the evening on Tuesday to find Kurt muscling the unit into one of the living room windows, clenching a Phillips head screwdriver in his teeth and muttering under his breath.

 

Normally, Kurt using tools while wearing one of Blaine’s old Dalton tee shirts  caused Blaine to sit and watch until he couldn’t stand it anymore, at which point he removed both the tools and the tee shirt from Kurt. But today Blaine simply toed off his shoes, tossed his messenger bag on a chair and disappeared into the bedroom, which Kurt knew was even hotter than the living room.

 

Kurt couldn’t deal with anything else while he was cradling ninety pounds of metal next to a fifth-floor open window, so he pushed the unit onto the ledge, and focused on screwing it into place.  Then he plugged it in and flipped it on.  “Whisper-quiet” was obviously advertising code for “dull roar,” but he was hopeful it would at least cool the place down a few degrees.  Blaine had still not appeared from the bedroom.

 

Kurt poured a couple of glasses of iced tea from the refrigerator, garnishing them with the fresh mint he was growing out on the fire escape, and went in search of Blaine.

 

The tiny bedroom was dark and sweltering.  Kurt could feel the sweat trickling down his back, and beading up on his forehead.  Blaine was planted face down on the bed, not moving.

 

“Hey,” Kurt said softly, “I brought you a cold drink.”

 

Blaine didn’t move for a moment, but then pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, accepting the cold glass from Kurt and holding it to his cheek for a moment, before starting to sip from it.

 

“Still upset about the house?” Kurt asked.  Blaine nodded.  They had talked about this right after Pam called on Saturday night.  Blaine knew the house was on the market, that his mother wanted to live somewhere smaller and more efficient, and that his dad wasn’t interested, having relocated to Columbus after the divorce. Hearing that the sale was pending somehow made it all more real. Blaine called Cooper that night, but Cooper was at some L.A. party trying to impress a new agent and he didn’t really have time to listen to Blaine.  He promised to call back, but three days later Kurt knew he hadn’t.

 

“I don’t even live there any more,” he admitted to Kurt, as they sat on the edge of the bed in the darkened room. Kurt glare at the listlessly spinning ceiling fan  in frustration. It was still _so hot_ at was nine o’clock at night.  “It just makes me feel kind of homeless, though. Like I don’t belong anywhere.”

 

“What will you miss most about it?” asked Kurt, feeling his shirt starting to stick to his back from the perspiration.  He thought he really should give Blaine a hug, but _god_ was it hot.  He settled for drawing a finger lightly over Blaine’s shoulder.

 

“When Coop still lived at home we used to play in the pool in the backyard all summer long.  He taught me how to dive, and he’d have a bunch of friends over.  The only time he would let me hang out with them was when they were in the pool.  Otherwise they were up in his room listening to music with the door shut and I wasn’t allowed.”

 

“I liked that pool,” said Kurt. Memories of late summer nights spent alone with Blaine in the dark, ran through his mind.  Cool water flowed around them as they swam without suits, Roxy music playing from the outdoor sound system. That all sounded better than this sticky, hot room in Manhattan.

 

“Yeah,” Blaine sighed.  “I’ll miss my room too, though, Kurt.  My room was the first place we…”

His voice trailed off as as he took another sip of tea,  Kurt could see the flush on his face from the heat, even though the room was mostly dark.

 

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed, smiling at the memory.  “God, I was so nervous.”

 

“You?”  Blaine threw a questioning look at Kurt, “But it was your idea!”

 

“I know,” said Kurt, “but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t terrified.”

 

“Yeah,” Blaine smiled a crooked smile. “Me too.”

 

“I’m sorry about the house,” said Kurt softly.  “I remember when my dad sold the house we used to live in with my mom, when he married Carole.  I felt the same way--like I was sort of orphaned in a different way.”

 

Blaine sighed and looked down at the rapidly melting ice cubes in his glass.  “It’s really hot in here, Kurt. How are we going to sleep tonight?”

 

“I don’t know,” admitted Kurt. “I’m hoping the unit in the living room will start to work.  But there’s a ten o’clock show at the Angelika. Let’s go and at least it will be cool there for a couple of hours.”

 

Blaine rolled his eyes, “You’re going to make me go watch some old french movie with subtitles that I would never in a million years want to see if it wasn’t so hot, aren’t you?”

 

“Probably,” shrugged Kurt, smiling and taking Blaine’s glass as he stood up, “but the air conditioning will make me more willing to make out with you in the back row when you get bored.” Blaine snorted and laughed then, as they headed out, which made Kurt a little relieved.

 

The next day was even hotter., Kurt came home from his internship, turned on the a/c unit and poured himself more iced tea. As soon as Blaine came through the door, he asked, “Do you have homework tonight?”  Blaine shook his head and said,

 

“Just some reading for my philosophy class, not much.”

 

“Good,” said Kurt, “we’re going out for ice cream until it cools down in here.”

 

“Is this the new plan?” asked Blaine, “We refugee out of our apartment as often as possible  until the heat breaks?”

 

“Pretty much,” admitted Kurt.  “You have to agree, it was much better in here last night after the a/c had a couple of hours to work.”

 

“It was,” Blaine agreed, “But, god, talk about feeling homeless.  Alright, lead away.”

 

By Friday night Kurt was almost out of ideas.  In addition to ice cream, they had gone to the movies twice (Blaine got him to go to the new Avengers movie on the second go-around), spent hours reading magazines in the bookstore cafe around the corner, and even passed one evening seeing how long it would take them to grocery shop at the Essex Street Market, lingering in the aisles until the store closed and they had to leave.

 

He came home from Vogue.com on Friday to find Blaine on the phone with Cooper.  From the sound of it, Blaine was getting more frustrated by the minute.

 

“Coop, I know you haven’t lived there for a while, and I know Mom needs to--” Cooper apparently interrupted him, because Blaine stopped talking, and started pacing, rolling his eyes at Kurt, who put his bag down and immediately flipped on the air conditioner. The noise drove Blaine into the bedroom to finish his conversation.

 

Several minutes later he came out, eyes narrowed, with his hands clenched.

 

“Not good?” asked Kurt.

 

“He’s just being an ass, as usual,” snapped Blaine.  “God, why do I even bother?  I just wanted to _talk_ to him, you know?  I didn’t expect him to change anything, but he won’t even listen---” He broke off the sentence and looked at Kurt, who stood over by the piano looking at something on his phone.

 

“What?” he asked, even though Kurt hadn’t said anything. “Do we have heat refugee plans for the evening? I’m exhausted Kurt and I’m not very good company.  Maybe you should just go by yourself.”

“No,” said Kurt shaking his head, and putting his phone away.  “I just found something different in TimeOut.com, and I think you’re going to want to see it. Come with me. I promise you don’t have to make small talk.  You can vent about Cooper all the way there.”

 

“If it wasn’t so hot I’d go over to the Y and box,” said Blaine, “but I don’t think I can stand the idea of coming out of there even more sweaty and wrung out.”

 

“I know,” said Kurt. “Come with me instead.”

 

Blaine  shook his head a bit to clear it and they headed back down the stairs of the building.  When they got out onto the street, heat lightning was rumbling in the sky and it was threatening to rain.  Kurt led Blaine to the subway and they headed uptown.  Blaine was still upset about Cooper when Kurt pulled open wide glass doors and escorted him into cool, marble-floored space.

 

“MOMA?” Blaine asked as he followed Kurt inside. “Is there a new exhibit?”

 

“Yes,” said, Kurt simply, “it’s free tonight and I wanted you to see it now, while it’s so hot and you’re thinking about your old house.”

 

Blaine quirked an eyebrow at him but followed him up to the fourth floor exhibit space.  The museum was cool and even though the night was free, it wasn’t overly crowded.  As they turned the corner from the escalator Blaine realized what Kurt wanted him to see.

 

Every wall was filled with oversized paintings of swimming pools. They were filled with clear turquoise water, diving boards and swimmers.

 

“It’s a David Hockney exhibit,” explained Kurt.  “I thought it might be kind of interesting. And fitting.”

 

They wandered for over an hour, surrounded by bright blue and green canvases filled with water and waves.  The tight lines in Blaine’s face smoothed out as he talked to Kurt about his childhood home. Kurt asked questions about growing up with Cooper and Blaine’s parents. They both stayed cool in the museum.

  
They ended up pausing in front of Hockney’s ["Two Boys in a Pool."](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/60/1b/cf/601bcf4c611e97b7c828cd28041e2787.jpg)

 

“That was us, wasn’t it?” Blaine asked Kurt, his eyes glued to the painting.

“It _was_ ,” Kurt agreed.  They stood looking for a quiet moment before Kurt said,  “It still is, right?”

 

Blaine looked him then, his gaze full on Kurt, and he smiled for the first time that night. “Yeah,” he agreed.  “Even without the house or the pool. It still is.”

 

They picked up a postcard of “Two Boys in a Pool” in the MOMA gift shop before they stepped back out onto the street to go back to the apartment.  It was pouring rain and the heat in New York was finally breaking.

 


	7. A New York Moment (Prompt: Picnic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Back in Ohio they used to talk about all the things you could only do in New York. This was one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The duet they sing is “Love Me Like a Song” by Kimmie Rhodes and Willie Nelson.

In the middle of finals week at NYU’s summer session, Blaine sat at the kitchen table working on his final paper for Philosophy, one of two courses he was taking to try to make up some credits.  Kurt came in with a bag of groceries.

 

“Still struggling with Plato?” asked Kurt, as he started unpacking food into cupboard.

 

“Ugh,” said Blaine.  “I think I’ve completely confused myself as to which theories are Plato and which are Socrates.” He sat back in his chair and stretched, catlike.

 

“When’s it due?” sked Kurt, putting away the last cereal box and coming up behind Blaine’s chair to look over his shoulder.

 

“Thursday,” said Blaine, “and then I have to give my final oral presentation in my Shakespeare class on Friday.  Then I will be in serious need of celebration.”

 

“As in ‘go out dancing’ celebration or as in ‘date night’ celebration?” asked Kurt.  He put his hands on Blaine’s shoulders to give him a quick massage. Blaine closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

 

“Mmm, that’s good.  I don’t know, probably just something for the two of us?  It’s been so hot that I’m not really up for going to a crowded bar or a club.”

 

“Okay,” Kurt smiled.  “You figure out the difference between Plato and Socrates and I’ll plan something for Friday night.”

 

Blaine leaned back in his chair and looked at Kurt upside down.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I know,” said Kurt, leaning over to kiss him like that,  “I love you too.  Now get back to the ancient Greeks.”

 

By Friday, the paper was done and Blaine headed out the door muttering,

 

“ _This was the noblest Roman of them all;_

_All the conspirators save only he_

_Did that they did in envy of great Caesar._ ”

 

Kurt cleaned up the breakfast dishes and headed over to the nursing home.  They were practicing the race in the number “The Downhill Final” this week, and Kurt had already had two wheelchair collisions and one flat tire. He spent the morning changing the choreography so that the chairs moved parallel to each other and then returned to the apartment to pack a cooler before heading out again.

 

When Blaine got home at about 4 o’clock, Kurt was nowhere to be found, but as soon as Blaine put down his messenger bag and pulled off his shoes, he received a text:

 

_I’m saving a space_  

 

With a smile on his face, Blaine texted back

 

_Where are you?_

 

The answer came pinging back almost immediately

 

_The Great Lawn in Central Park, about fifty yards from center stage_

 

Blaine chuckled as he went to change his clothes.  Kurt had gotten them a great spot for tonight’s performance at Shakespeare in the Park.  Perfect.

 

By the time Blaine made his way to where Kurt had spread a picnic blanket and parked himself on it, the Great Lawn was filling steadily with other picnickers.

 

“How long have you been here?” asked Blaine, dropping down next to Kurt.  He recognized the blanket.  It was the old plaid duvet cover from his bedroom at home.  It brought back good memories.

 

“Since about two,” replied Kurt.  “I had some internet research to do for Isabelle, so I just decided to get us good seats while I worked off my phone.  It’s the beauty of technology.  How did your presentation go?”

 

“It was fine,” said Blaine.  “A girl in the class did the death scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ , only she gave Romeo’s speech. It was impressive.”

 

The crowds continued to fill in around them as late afternoon turned to evening.  Kurt had brought all sorts of picnic foods, from stuffed grape leaves to tapenade to fresh cherries. One by one, Blaine popped cherries into his mouth, savoring the sweet flavor.

 

“Glad to be done?” Kurt asked him.

 

“Yeah,” said Blaine, “but it feels good to be back in school, too, you know?”

 

“I get it,” said Kurt.  “You always do better when you have a schedule and a plan to follow.”

 

Blaine sighed,  “I guess.” He lay down on the blanket and put his hands behind his head, looking up at the sky.

 

Kurt looked down at him and cocked his head. “What?” he asked.  “Is that a problem?”

 

“No,” admitted Blaine, not looking at Kurt.  “I just feel like I lost all this time, and I keep doing that over and over.  I lost a year of high school because I had to switch schools after the Sadie Hawkins Dance. Then I fell behind at NYADA and I lost a year there also.  I’m just frustrated, I guess. Always playing catch-up to you.”

 

“Hey,” said Kurt softly, “it’s not catch-up Blaine. You know you can’t think of it that way.”

 

Blaine looked over at Kurt, sitting with his long legs crossed in front of him on the plaid blanket. He was fiddling with one of the napkins from the cooler.  Only Kurt would have packed cloth napkins to take on a picnic. Blaine tried a weak smile.

 

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” he said.

 

Kurt reached out, extending his hand palm up for Blaine to hold.

 

“In the race together?” he asked.

 

Blaine nodded as he pulled himself up to sit up.  “Yeah,” Blaine agreed, “in the race together.”

 

The show that night was _The Tempest_.  

 

“Did I tell you that Matthew Daddario is playing Ferdinand?” whispered Kurt, as the stage lights went on and the production began.  Blaine’s eyes widened.  He and Kurt were both big _Shadowhunters_ fans and the chance to see the actor who played half-angel Alec perform live was exciting.

 

The production was excellent. Kurt had been there long enough to get an almost perfect view of the stage.  The lawn was mobbed and most people talked through the performance, but Kurt pulled homemade cheese straws and fresh raspberries out of the cooler and he and Blaine nibbled on them and looked around at the crowd as much as at the production.

 

At one point, a little girl wearing a sailor dress toddled in their direction from her parents’ blanket nearby.  She held out her hand as her father came to pick her up and Blaine asked him, “May I?” before solemnly depositing a raspberry in her tiny hand.  She chortled with delight and popped it in her mouth then laughed as her father slung her over his shoulder to carry her back to her own blanket.  Kurt and Blaine waved at her and she grinned back at them, the red raspberry smearing her face, looking like a very happy, very tipsy little sailor. Blaine and Kurt looked at each other and Kurt quirked an eyebrow and said, “Some day?”

 

Blaine squeezed his hand and said, “Yes. Definitely. Some day.”  The sword fight on stage started then and they were drawn back into the show.

 

At the end of the night, Blaine and Kurt collected the cooler and Blaine’s duvet cover and headed back to the apartment.  Blaine went into the bedroom to pull off his clothes and take a shower, when Kurt asked him to come back into the living room.

 

Kurt sat on the piano bench and patted the seat next to him saying, “I liked that line Miranda had in the third act: ‘I would not wish any companion in the world but you.’”

 

“It’s true, said Blaine sitting next to him.  

 

Kurt said,  “Sing with me?”

 

“You know I will,” replied Blaine.

 

The song Kurt chose that night was one they had sung together before, but not for a while.  It was a little quiet and a little sad and Blaine thought it was just about perfect for his mood.

 

_Put your arms around me_

_Listen to my heartbeat now_

_If you want to love me_

_Baby, I can show you how_

 

_Love me like a song_

_Sweet as a melody_

_Learn all the words to me_

_And sing along, find the harmony_

 

As they lay in bed later, dozing, Blaine curled up against Kurt’s shoulder, his face tucked into the crook of Kurt’s neck, Kurt said, “That was a New York moment wasn’t it?”

 

Before they moved to New York, they used to talk about all the things they would do once they got there that you couldn’t do anywhere else. Broadway shows, strolling up Fifth Avenue, and visiting iconic sites like the Empire State building, or TImes Square.  Going to Shakespeare in the Park.  Kurt started keeping a list of them on his phone, similar to his bucket list.

 

Blaine smiled in the dark. It turned out that when you lived in New York you didn’t really have much time, or in their case, the money, to experience New York moments regularly.

 

“Yeah,” he said and raised himself up on an elbow next to Kurt.  “That was an excellent New York moment.”

 

He leaned down to kiss Kurt, and Kurt deepened the kiss almost immediately. It wasn’t just a moment, thought Blaine. It was their life now.  Kurt was right, a schedule and a plan were good.

 

Blaine rolled over and pulled Kurt on top of him, savoring his weight, pushing his hands into the waistband of Kurt’s briefs as Kurt threaded his hands up under Blaine’s tee shirt.  Blaine pushed aside the clouds that were forming in tiny clusters in his head, the clouds that meant worry and sadness and sleeping too much.  He would think about them later.  Right now he just wanted another New York moment with Kurt.


	8. There Ought to be Clowns (Prompt: Biking)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Newlyweds don’t always get it right. Sometimes they get it very, very wrong. They keep trying anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song Kurt sings, “Send in the Clowns” by Stephen Sondheim

It took Kurt almost a week to figure out that things were off kilter.  The weekend after his classes ended at NYU, Blaine slept until mid-afternoon both Saturday and Sunday.  Kurt wasn’t too concerned.  He knew Blaine had been staying up late to work on his final projects and had been out of sorts since he found out about the sale of his childhood home.  

 

Kurt spent the weekend puttering around the apartment. He visited the farmer’s market on Saturday morning, baked some fresh blueberry scones and had brunch with Rachel on Sunday.  Even though they were both back in New York, he didn’t see Rachel as much as he would have liked.  She was living in Chelsea, taking voice lessons with some renowned voice coach and working in the Dean of Student’s office at NYADA. When she asked why Blaine wasn’t joining them, Kurt just smiled and told her Blaine needed to catch up on his sleep.

 

On Monday, Kurt had dress rehearsals at the nursing home for Starlight Express. When he got home that evening, he was too distracted by the lighting issues plaguing the first act to notice that Blaine was still in his boxers and one of Kurt’s tank tops at four in the afternoon.  The kitchen was a mess, dirty dishes everywhere, and sheet music littered the living room floor. Blaine claimed he had started looking for a song he couldn’t find.

 

This pattern continued until Thursday when Kurt came home at about three in the afternoon and found Blaine still asleep in bed despite that he was supposed to teach piano lessons on Thursday afternoons.  After waking Blaine, who started and then rushed to get dressed and out the door for his four o’clock lesson, Kurt sat down at the kitchen table and realized that Blaine had probably been sleeping through the morning and into the afternoon every day. The sheet music was still everywhere in the living room.  The dishes were piling up, even though Blaine had promised to do them each evening that week. Kurt wasn’t sure how many days it had been since Blaine left the apartment. Kurt realized that they had been in New York for seven weeks now and Blaine’s anti-depressants only came in thirty-day prescriptions. He knew Blaine hadn’t found a local doctor yet.

 

With a slightly sick feeling in his stomach, Kurt went into the bathroom and looked on the glass shelf over the sink.  Sure, enough, Blaine’s brown prescription medication bottle with the name of his Ohio doctor on it lay empty on the shelf.

 

By the time Blaine got home at 7:30 after three piano lessons, Kurt had worked himself into a fury.  He launched into Blaine before he had even taken his shoes off.

 

“What do you think you’re doing, going off your medication without telling anyone?” he demanded.

 

Blaine looked at Kurt, a confused expression on his face and silently toed his shoes off by the door.

 

“Well?” Kurt insisted.

 

Blaine’s response did nothing to placate him. “You need to calm down Kurt. You aren’t my mother.”

 

The ensuing fight was not pretty.  The more Blaine refused to talk to him about the medication, the more worked up Kurt got. The fight ended when Blaine picked up his keys again and stormed out of the apartment as Kurt told him he was behaving like a child.

 

Blaine could probably never do anything in their marriage that Kurt would find more painful than walking out on Kurt in anger. Kurt knew that, unlike himself, Blaine almost always chose to walk away from confrontation rather than to head into it.

 

It had happened before, more than once.  They had talked about it after they got married, how Blaine fleeing an argument left Kurt feeling abandoned and rejected. They had also talked about how Blaine hated being yelled at by Kurt preferring to resolve things more calmly.  But despite their calm, mature talk, it had all just happened again.

 

Kurt paced the living room, looking at the clock and his phone. The minutes ticked by.  Half an hour later he texted Rachel to see if she had heard from Blaine.  She called him instantly.

 

“Did you two have a fight?” Her ability to see through him immediately just infuriated Kurt more.

 

“Look, Rachel, I just wanted to know if you heard from him, I can’t get into it with you.”

 

“Hey, Kurt, It’s me,” said Rachel.  “I know you. I know Blaine.  What was it this time?  Did he --” her remark was interrupted by an incoming text from Blaine.

 

“He’s texting, I have to go,” said Kurt and hung up on Rachel before she could even answer.

 

_From Blaine:_

 

_I’m coming home, I promise.  I need some time.  Going for coffee._

 

It was better than silence.  Kurt texted back

 

_TY for letting me know_

 

The evening dragged.  Kurt did the dishes and cleaned up the mess of sheet music in the living room.  He changed the sheets and then started rearranging his sock drawer.  All of a sudden it felt incredibly important to make sure he still had enough light blue socks and to arrange them just so, in the sock drawer, heel to toe, lightest to darkest. By the time he tucked in the last sock, it was almost 11:00 p.m.  More than enough time had elapsed for Blaine to have consumed three cups of coffee. Or more.  

 

His phone buzzed with another text. It was from Sam.

 

_Blaine’s on his way home_

 

Kurt looked at it puzzled for a moment, and then realized that Blaine must have called Sam to talk from the coffee shop.

 

His phone lit up again.  This time it was his dad.

 

_I love you both.  It will all work out_

 

Kurt went and sat down at Blaine’s piano in the living room. It wasn’t often that he played the piano alone, much less while he sang.  He had given up piano lessons years ago and much preferred letting Blaine play. But something about the fight that evening and the heavy knot in his stomach made Kurt pick up one of the older pieces of sheet music Blaine had pulled out earlier and start playing.

 

_Isn't it rich?_

_Are we a pair_

_Me here at last on the ground,_

_You in mid-air._

_Send in the clowns._

_Isn't it bliss, don't you approve?_

_One who keeps tearing around,_

_One who can't move._

_Where are the clowns?_

_Send in the clowns._

 

Kurt was still singing and playing when Blaine came through the door, closing it behind him. Blaine stood there at the entry, listening to Kurt finish.

 

_Don’t you love farce?_

_My fault, I fear_

_I thought you’d want what I want--_

_Sorry, my dear_

_But where are the clowns?_

_Quick send in the clowns._

_Don’t bother, they’re here._

 

After he finished, Kurt sat quietly at the piano, waiting for Blaine to say something.

 

“I’m sorry I left,” said  Blaine, coming over and sitting down next to Kurt on the piano bench.  “I know you hate it when I do that.”

 

“I do,” said Kurt. “But I also know that’s how you think things through when we fight. At least you texted me.”

 

He liked feeling Blaine close by his side.  He could feel the anxiety start to leave his body a tiny bit at a time. Blaine was home, he hadn’t left for good.

 

“Can I tell you about the medication?” asked Blaine.

 

Kurt nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 

Blaine looked down at the piano keys, then sideways at Kurt.  “I haven’t stopped taking it. I have another bottle in my dopp kit that I’ve been using.”

 

Kurt looked at him skeptically. “But you’ve been sleeping all week and the place is a mess.  I don’t think you’ve even been outside this week, Blaine.  This is what you do when--”

 

Blaine cut him off without raising his voice. “Kurt, _listen_.”

 

Kurt stopped talking then.

 

Blaine sighed, and turned to Kurt on the narrow bench, putting his hand on Kurt’s thigh.

 

“Kurt, I know it’s been a bad week.  I’m not sure what’s going on either.  I’ve been kind of down for a couple of weeks now, since my mom called about the house. But I was focused on finals and I thought I could just push through it.  After I overslept this afternoon, I made an appointment for next week to see a new doctor here.  So if I need to adjust my medication I can and I can refill the prescription.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Kurt asked softly.

 

“Because you were yelling at me Kurt. You wouldn’t _listen_ to me. You know I hate that.”

 

“I know,” said Kurt, still feeling a bit stubborn, “but I was worried about you.”

 

Blaine nodded.  “I get it Kurt, and I love that you want to take care of me.  But there’s a difference between taking care of me and being my caregiver.  And I don’t need or want you to do that.”

 

They sat quietly awhile longer  Then Blaine said, “I need you to let me manage it. Even when you don’t like how I do it.”

 

Kurt looked at him. Blaine looked miserable, his eyes wet and his hands clenched.

 

“Blaine?” he said softly, “Blaine, I need you to tell me how you’re feeling. That’s all.”

 

“I know.” Blaine sighed and shook his head then.  “That’s what your dad told me. I hate telling you bad news.  It’s still hard for me.”

 

“What did Sam tell you?” Kurt asked.

 

Blaine smiled then, and said, “Oh, he texted you?”

 

Kurt nodded.

 

“He told me that it was similar to the fanfiction where Anakin and Padme argue about being together, but it’s really just fear for his safety that makes her upset.”

 

“That was fanfiction? I thought that happened in the movie,” Kurt said.

 

“It did,” said Blaine simply, “It’s Sam. I knew what he meant.”

 

The two of them sat there quietly for another minute. Blaine said “I do need to ask for your help with something, though.”

 

“What?” asked Kurt.

 

“I stopped running a couple of weeks ago,” said Blaine.  “It was that really hot week and the air quality was terrible and I had a ton of stuff to do and--never mind, it doesn’t matter why. I stopped and I shouldn’t have.  And getting outside, doing something physical, is part of what helps me feel better, day-to-day.”

 

“What do you want me to do?” asked Kurt.  He put his hand over the one Blaine had placed on his thigh and looked at Blaine, really looked at him.

 

“On the weekends, can we plan to do something outside? If we do something together, and I know it’s going to happen every week, then even if I miss exercising during the week, it will help keep me on track.”

 

“Sure,” said Kurt. “That’s easy.   They have that bike share over on Rivington Street.  It’s cheap, and close by and we can use it any time we want.”

 

Kurt smiled at Blaine, who still looked miserable, and leaned over to pull him into a hug.

 

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” he said, “and I’m sorry you’ve been sad.”  Blaine pushed his face into Kurt’s neck and hung onto him.

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I spent the evening rearranging my socks,” admitted Kurt.

 

“The light blue ones?” asked Blaine, not moving his head from Kurt’s neck.

 

“Yes,” said Kurt. “Those. Now come to bed.”

  



	9. Down East (Prompt: Boardwalk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Everyone has that one relative whom they love but who seems to have no filters. In the Anderson family it’s Blaine’s Nana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Glee had continued for another season, we would have wanted to meet some more members of Blaine's family. And we're pretty sure the results would have been hysterical. Hence, this chapter.

Kurt’s production of Starlight Express at the nursing home was a success. The residents did a great job playing runaway trains and their families and the staff enjoyed the performance. Kurt even got Artie to come film the show, and Artie praised him for the clever wheelchair choreography. At the end of the show, the residents presented Kurt with an enormous bouquet of white roses to thank him for all of his time and effort.

Blaine took him out to dinner to celebrate at the little greek restaurant around the corner from their apartment building and told him about the call he had gotten from his grandmother earlier that day, inviting them up to her summer home in Boothbay Harbor, Maine.

“You’re done with the show now, and my piano lessons are on hiatus for August. You’ve never been to Maine, Kurt, and it’s one of my favorite places in the world. Nana sounded really excited to have us and it’s probably time you saw the cottage anyways.”

Kurt smiled at Blaine. Kurt was pleased with the show, pleased with his efforts and now Blaine was offering to take him out of town. One of the things they had learned about New York was that it felt crowded all the time. It was probably good to get out of town periodically.

“Sure,” he said easily, digging into his moussaka, “I’d love to have you show me Maine and get to know your Nana better. But what do you mean it’s time I ‘saw the cottage?’”

Blaine shrugged and turned his plate to better address the Greek salad on it. “Well Nana always said she’s leaving the house in Dayton to Cooper and the cottage in Maine to me in her will. It will be our house some day, Kurt.”

Kurt stared at him, surprised, a forkful of eggplant frozen halfway to his mouth. “Really?” He asked, “We’re going to actually own our own summer cottage?”

In response, Blaine just grinned back at him and shrugged, stabbing a chunk of feta. “Welcome to the family!” he said chuckling at Kurt’s expression.

Three days later, as they headed up Route 95, the back of the Prius packed with clothes, some fancy Murray’s chocolates for Nana and Kurt’s duffle bag filled with emergency bedding, Kurt asked Blaine to tell him about Maine.

Blaine had fond memories of summer weeks spent at his Nana’s house in Boothbay Harbor as a child. Getting there from Ohio was a misery, either a two-day car ride being tortured by Cooper in the back seat of the minivan or a long flight to Boston with a stop in Philadelphia and then another long drive up the coast in a rental car. But once they arrived, he spent his days fishing for crabs off the dock behind the house, or biking into town for ice cream. Nana took Blaine and Cooper blueberry picking and would then bring them home to make pie or cobbler. Some days, they would pile into Nana’s old Grand Wagoneer and drive to Popham Beach, the only sandy beach in the area. In the evenings, Nana played the piano in what she called the sitting room and taught Blaine and Cooper camp songs or encouraged them to perform whatever pop song was on the radio that week On the way home every year, they stopped at LL Bean in Freeport, where Blaine and Cooper played in the tents and the kayaks and on the climbing wall, while Blaine’s mom shopped for school clothes and new winter boots and Blaine’s dad talked to the store clerks about fishing gear.

Blaine’s mother always seemed to relax a little bit in Maine and that was one of the things Blaine liked about it. His dad usually stayed back in Ohio to work and joined them just for the last week or so. And Nana adored Blaine, always running her hands over his curly hair and sneaking him candies from her needlework bag. She was a little unpredictable. Sometimes she just served ice cream for dinner or took the boys down to the cove after dark for a moonlit dip. But she always made them feel loved and wanted.

“I’m not quite sure what to expect from your Nana this visit,” said Kurt. “The first time I met her was at your parents’ Christmas party my senior year, remember?”

“Yeah,” Blaine smiled, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to grin over at Kurt,“ she asked you if there were any bathhouses in Lima like they have in New York that you could take me to for a date.”

“I almost choked on my food,” said Kurt, “I was only seventeen. I didn’t know your grandmother knew what bathhouses were.”

“I’m still not sure she does,” laughed Blaine. “I was scared to ask her what she thought they really were! I think she was just trying to be supportive, and she must have heard somewhere that bathhouses were a thing for gay men.”

Five hours later, Blaine pulled off the highway at Old Orchard Beach.

“How far away are we?” asked Kurt.

“It’s only about an hour-and-a-half to Boothbay Harbor from here,” said Blaine. “But it’s lunchtime and I could stand to stretch my legs. There’s a fun pier here on the ocean, like a boardwalk.

They split a lobster roll at a clam shack across the street from the ocean,and then walked among the carnival games and tattoo parlors, the ocean crashing beneath the wooden planks under their feet. By the time they got back in the car and headed to Blaine’s Nana’s house, Kurt felt very far from New York. Blaine was happy, more upbeat than he had been in weeks. It was nice.

They sang together as they drove north, past Portland and Brunswick and then onto the coastal road down to Boothbay, first some Beach Boys for Blaine,

_Well she got her daddy's car_   
_And she cruised through the hamburger stand now_   
_Seems she forgot all about the library_   
_Like she told her old man now_

and then “Summer Nights” from Grease for Kurt, who liked it because they changed the gender of the lyrics so that

  
_He was sweet, just turned eighteen_   
_Well, he was good, you know what I mean_   
_Summer heat, boy and boy meet_   
_But, uh oh, those summer nights_

They were still singing as Blaine pulled the Prius off the main road and down a driveway through pine trees to a sprawling, cedar-shingled house overlooking a sweeping green lawn that led down to the dark blue of the Atlantic Ocean.

Kurt stared. “Blaine, this is not a ‘cottage.’ By any definition. It’s huge! It has its own dock!”

Blaine laughed and opened the passenger side door for him. “Come see the inside, Kurt, you’ll see why I’ve always loved it here.”

The whole interior of the house was done in blues and tans, picking up on the beach theme. The furniture was old and worn, but the house had comfortable charm. Nana welcomed them both with a hug and then served them gin and tonics in the big, open combined dining and family room that looked out the picture window toward the water. Kurt looked around, still stunned.

“Now tell me about yourself Kurt,” demanded Nana, peering sharply at him from behind her eyeglasses. She looked like Blaine’s mom, Pam. But her eyes were like Blaine’s, that golden whiskey color that Kurt didn’t even know how to describe in one word, and she had beautiful long silver hair. Though she was a tiny, birdlike woman, she was not the least bit shy. “I didn’t get invited to the wedding, so I need to get to know the man in Blaine’s life.”  
“We’re sorry about the wedding,” interjected Blaine, reaching across the table to squeeze his grandmother’s hand, “it was just really spur of the moment. We didn’t want to wait anymore to be married. And at that moment, the wedding seemed almost...I don’t know…”

“Unimportant,” supplied Kurt, smiling at him and taking a sip. Blaine nodded.

“Fine,” said Nana, “Just understand that you deprived me of a fabulous party. Not to mention bragging rights with all my friends in Dayton. No one in my bridge club has ever been to a gay wedding and the girls have questions.”

“Well, we can try to answer questions for you Nana,” said Blaine. “But really, it was just like most weddings. There was music and flowers and dancing…”

Nana interrupted him then, “But who got given away? Which one of you is the husband?”

Kurt’s eyes widened and he looked over at Blaine who was closing his eyes and trying not to laugh.

“Nana, we’re both husbands,” he tried to tell her.

But Nana persisted. She leaned in toward Kurt and said in a low voice, “You know in my day, we always blamed the mother when things like this happened.”

“Nana!” Blaine scolded her. “You can’t say things like that anymore. Times have changed. Anyway,” he continued, looking over at Kurt with an I’m really sorry about this expression that Kurt caught right away, “If Kurt’s mother is responsible for him being the amazing man I was lucky enough to marry, then I will always be grateful to her memory.”

“Now, now,” said Nana, patting Blaine’s hand, “you know it makes no difference to me. Or anyone any more. Nobody gives it a second thought--it’s like a pregnant bride when I was your age.”

“Well,” said Kurt, “homophobia is still a problem, even in New York. But times are changing. We’re hopeful that when we eventually decide to have a family, it will be even safer and more accepting.” Kurt was instantly sorry he mentioned a family, because all of a sudden Nana wanted to talk about how he and Blaine would have children, and whether one of them was willing to be with a woman to get her pregnant.

It was a fun weekend. Boothbay was a lovely little seaside town and Kurt could easily picture a young Blaine careening around the streets on his bike or roaming the tide pools, his unruly hair sticking out in all directions. They picked up boiled lobsters and fresh corn for dinner and ate on the deck overlooking the water, Blaine explaining to Kurt how to extract the meat from the shells with Nana’s fancy sterling silver lobster picks. When the sky got dark, Blaine led Kurt by the hand down to the dock behind the house and they lay on their backs looking at more stars overhead than Kurt had ever seen.

Nana, despite her tendency to make wildly inappropriate comments (At breakfast on Sunday, she told Kurt that she had an uncle everyone thought might be homosexual, so that might be where Blaine got it from) was delighted to have them and a gracious host.

As they packed the car on Sunday she pulled first Kurt and then Blaine into a hug.

“I’m so glad you came,” she told them, “When you get older, you just want to make sure your family is all fine. And you two are doing wonderfully. It makes me so happy to see.”

Blaine took a selfie of the three of them down on the dock with the water behind them and then one of him and Kurt in front of the ‘cottage.’ He promised to send them to Nana. “I’ll get them printed and framed for her for Christmas,” he told Kurt as they drove away, Kurt waving out the window. “She’ll love that.”

Kurt started laughing then, thinking back over the weekend and looked at Blaine across the car, “Wow, Blaine, just. Wow. That was a lot.The ‘cottage.’ Nana...”

“I know,” Blaine replied. “You were really patient with her. She loves me. She’s starting to love you. She’s just … a little outdated.”

“It was fine,” Kurt assured him. “I work in a nursing home, remember? But she actually reminded me of Cooper.”

Blaine started laughing too. “You’re right. She’s just like him. I never saw it before.”

“And wait ‘til you meet my dad’s Aunt Marie,” said Kurt. “Your Nana has nothing on her. She once asked me if I thought I had been molested as a child, and that made me gay. When I told her I hadn’t, she suggested ‘you might not remember it.’”

Blaine shook his head, a little ruefully, and turned the car onto 95 south.

“I can see why you love Maine, though,” continued Kurt. “It’s a wonderful place to be in the summer. Too bad we have to go back to New York so soon.”

Blaine looked over the center console and reached for Kurt’s hand. “Do you have to be back today?” he asked. “Can you give me a couple more days to show you another part of Maine I’ve been wanting to share with you?”

Kurt pulled out his phone to consult his schedule. “I have a meeting at NYADA on Wednesday night to plan this year’s freshman orientation, but I’m free until then. Where are we going?”

But all Blaine would tell him was “Wait and see,” with a smile.


	10. Money for Nothing (Prompt: Beach)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They need to have a talk about money. Also, hotel sex is the best sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is taken from the song "Money for Nothing" by Dire Straits. The Trinity Place Shelter http://trinityplaceshelter.org/ and Hetrick Martin http ://www.hmi.org/HMHS are both Manhattan-based LGBTQ resources.

Hotel sex was the _best_ sex. They had been together for years, but Blaine could count the number of times they had stayed in a hotel together on the fingers of one hand.  And _every single time_ , the sex was blazing hot and unforgettable.  

The first time they stayed together in a hotel was during Nationals in Chicago, the year Kurt graduated from McKinley.  And maybe that shouldn’t count, because they were stuffed in one room with all the other Glee Club boys, but Blaine still recalled the incredibly fast, mutual hand job they shared in the bathroom after the competition, still in their costumes, high off their win, Kurt shoving Blaine up against the door, kissing him hard and handling him roughly.    The next time they were in a hotel room was the Valentine’s Day after they broke up the first time, when Kurt dragged Blaine into the room by his necktie, and ended up using it to bind Blaine’s hands together.  And then of course, there was their honeymoon last fall, three short nights in Provincetown, which were a blur of rumpled sheets and a _lot_ of lube. Kurt had pushed Blaine over every single piece of furniture in the room at one point or another, leaving him dazed, dopy, sore, and grinning.

 

Blaine wasn’t sure what it was about hotels that made Kurt both turned on and aggressive, but he loved the combination.

 

So the day they left Nana’s cottage in Boothbay, he pulled up in front of the four star Sparhawk Oceanfront Resort in Ogunquit, Maine with high hopes.

 

Kurt arched an eyebrow at him as a valet pulled the luggage from the Prius and took the fob from Blaine.  “Can we afford this?” he hissed as they followed the valet into the spacious lobby, with sweeping picture windows overlooking Ogunquit Beach.

 

“I want to talk to you about that,” said Blaine, “but it turns out we can.” He smiled at Kurt, then turned to the receptionist and told her he had asked for a room with a king-sized bed when calling to make the reservation.

 

Ogunquit, Maine was a seaside destination for LGBTQ vacationers with art galleries and restaurants and a wide, sandy beach.  The Sparhawk Resort was a high-end hotel right on the beach with a wide deck looking out on the ocean, where servers in black brought guests cocktails in the late afternoon.  Room 407 was where Kurt immediately tossed their luggage into a corner, locked the door, pushed Blaine onto the enormous stretch of bed, and climbed on top of him, even though it was only three in the afternoon.  Yeah, Blaine definitely called this one right.

 

After, stretched alongside Kurt’s naked body under smooth white sheets, a little woozy from the afterglow, Blaine smiled into Kurt’s shoulder.

 

“Wanna go to the beach?” he asked.

 

“Nope,” Kurt replied.  “I’m good here.”

 

Blaine nodded.  “Me too.”

 

They lay there like that for a little while longer, the shadows in the window growing long in the late afternoon, Blaine smoothing a thumb along Kurt’s bicep. Kurt asked, “What was it you wanted to tell me earlier?”

 

“Well, you know how Nana set up a trust fund to pay for my education?”

 

“Yes,” Kurt said, “I remember. Thank goodness for that.  Otherwise we’d still be in Bushwick.”

 

“Turns out there’s another trust fund for me,” said Blaine.  “She told me about it this weekend, while you were in the shower one morning. It was set up so that I get access to it either when I turn 25 or a year after I get married, whichever comes first. And… well, we got married almost ten months ago.  So she wanted to tell me about it.”

 

Kurt didn’t say anything.  Blaine pushed away from his shoulder and up onto his hand to look over at Kurt’s face.  He was staring at the ceiling.

 

“Kurt?  Did you hear me?”

 

“I heard you,” said Kurt, reaching out a hand to run it over Blaine’s side.  “I think I’m processing.  I don’t come from a family that has trust funds, Blaine.  The education one made sense to me, but this--it’s making me feel… I don’t know... slightly dishonest somehow.”

 

“Why dishonest?” asked Blaine.  “Neither of us did anything wrong to get it.  Nana set up trusts for both Cooper and me.  And one for my cousin.  It’s family money.  She wants to keep it in the family. That includes you now.”

 

“It’s just… we didn’t earn it.  We didn’t do anything to deserve it. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with it. Are there rules?”  Kurt pushed himself up against the padded headboard of the bed and looked down at Blaine.  “We’ve never really talked about money before, have we?”

 

He was right, Blaine thought. They had kept their money separate until now, both contributing to monthly bills equally, for no reason other than the fact that their marriage had happened so quickly and they were both still in school. They hadn’t started a joint account or talked about financial goals. Blaine paid more toward the rent because he had insisted they not have roommates or live in a loft again.   Kurt had agreed that was probably a smart decision for their return to New York.

 

Blaine curled himself into Kurt’s hip, half reclining against the pile of pillows being him.

 

“So let’s talk about it now.  The only rule is that we have to agree on what to do with it, Kurt.  It’s not like it’s enough that we can both just live on it without working.   But we can use it to save up for a condo or a house.  We can travel or we can save it for when we want to start a family.  If we use a surrogate you know it’s going to be expensive, and then we’ll have childcare costs and education costs.”

 

Kurt blew a puff of air out.  “I don’t know, Blaine, I think I’m still wrapping my head around it. I’m just struggling to figure out what will feel right.”

 

“Okay,” Blaine said, “Well, think of it this way.  In a couple of years, we can use it to help produce a show.  Or I can cut an album.  Or you can start that men’s jewelry business you keep talking about. Or we can give money to nonprofits we want to support.”

 

“Hmmm,” said Kurt, noncommittally.  “Let’s think about it. I’m starving.  Can we go get something to eat?”

 

Blaine laughed then, and jumped up to start the shower.  Kurt followed him into the bathroom and looked longingly at the huge glass shower stall with its oversized rainfall showerhead.  

 

“Can we buy one of those?” he asked Blaine.

 

“Of course,” said Blaine.  “Although I think it might flood our bathroom. It looks bigger than our tub.  Marina and Henry might not be so pleased if it soaks through their ceiling.”

 

They wandered the streets of Ogunquit for a half hour or so, meandering into art galleries and beach boutiques before settling into a cozy booth in Juliana’s Restaurant for dinner.

 

“Ogunquit is kind of the Maine version of Provincetown, isn’t it?” asked Kurt as the waiter deposited fresh bread and herb-infused olive oil on the table.

 

“Yes,” agreed Blaine.  “But it’s a little less crazy. I thought it might be more our speed. The Ogunquit Playhouse is doing a production of ‘Priscilla, Queen of the Desert’ this week if you want to go tonight.  Or we can take a walk on Marginal Way, by the water, before it gets dark.”

 

They ended up strolling on the beach behind the hotel, the sky darkening, both of them carrying their shoes.  The waves were lapping gently against the shore as they walked hand-in-hand.  Kurt brought up the money again.  Clearly, he had been thinking about it all through the evening.

 

“It feels like a responsibility, “ he told Blaine, “like we’re supposed to do something important with it.”

 

“Well,” said Blaine, “I’m not sure it’s quite that serious.  I brought you here because all of a sudden it felt as though we could splurge on a couple of nights in a really nice hotel, and you _know_ hotels are a thing for you, Kurt.  That wasn’t important I guess, to anyone except me.”

 

“I do love a good hotel,” sighed Kurt.  “God, the sheets are amazing.  And that showerhead…”

 

Blaine smiled and leaned down to pick up a pebble and toss it into the water.

 

“Look, Kurt,” he said, reaching out for Kurt’s hand again, “we didn’t even know about the money until this weekend.  We don’t need it for anything right now, right?  I feel like things are going pretty well and I don’t want this to screw anything up. Why don’t we just figure out a way to invest it for now--save it and then we’ll know it will be there when we decide how to use it after school?”

 

“You could ask your dad about that.  It might be a good thing to talk about with him,” suggested Kurt.

 

Blaine sighed.  The topic of his father was always touchy.  “I could, I guess. I’m sure the irony of me getting access to that trust fund early, because it suddenly became legal for me to marry a man will not be lost on him.”

 

“Can we make a donation to some of the LGBTQ groups in New York?” Kurt asked.  “I’d like to support the Trinity Place Shelter, which works with homeless teens. It feels as though we should start getting to know some of the places that do that kind of work in the city.”

 

“Of course,” said Blaine, “let’s give something to Hetrick-Martin also. I was just reading in _Gay City News_ that they are starting fundraising to expand the Harvey Milk School to the middle and elementary grades.  Think what a difference that could make.”

 

They wandered back to the hotel and up to their room.  Blaine tossed his shoes over by the luggage and turned to Kurt with a smile.  “What are you in the mood for?” he asked.  Kurt looked back at him, a serious expression on his face.

 

“You and I both know you picked a four star hotel for a reason, Blaine.”

 

Kurt pushed him up against the back of the door then, and Blaine could feel Kurt’s hands tight on his hips, already tugging at his belt buckle.  He leaned into the touch, opening his mouth under Kurt’s, more than willing to be led wherever Kurt wanted to take him next. Hotel sex was really the best sex.

 


	11. Flying High in Birdland (Prompt: Outdoor Concert)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer is almost over, and they need to get back to school. Preppy!Blaine is still a thing for Kurt...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the song “Lullaby in Birdland.”

Back in New York, the heat still lingered and the crowds of tourists seemed to be everywhere, but Kurt was already thinking about his senior year at NYADA. There was a lot to do before graduation next May. He had to come up with a major performance piece, either theatrical or musical, which counted as a senior thesis, and he still had a couple of academic classes that he needed to graduate, including The History of French Farce and a Play Writing seminar.

But this first week back from Maine, Kurt was mostly focused on putting together the NYADA orientation show for new students. It was an outdoor concert, performed in the open plaza across the street from the school. In addition to volunteering for it, Madame Tibideaux had asked him to perform a solo.

He was trying to decide between “Somewhere That’s Green” from _Little Shop of Horrors_ and “I Believe” from _Book of Mormon_. Or maybe something from _Jersey Boys_... In fact his song selection process had become a little obsessive and it wasn’t until the third night of asking Blaine to play the piano for him while he sang a few bars of multiple different songs, that he realized that Blaine was not really as enthusiastic as he usually was when he played for Kurt.

Kurt cocked his head at Blaine, sitting on the piano bench, then asked him, “Blaine, is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

Blaine looked up at him wide-eyed, and shook his head, “No, Kurt, I’m fine. You know I’m happy to help you put your song together. Whatever you choose will be great.” But something was wrong.

Kurt sat down on the piano bench next to Blaine, scooting in close by his side, and put down the sheet music he had been holding.

“What’s going on?” he asked softly.

Blaine put his hands in his lap then, and looked down. He sighed heavily, and admitted, “Kurt, I want to help with your song. And I want to hear you perform. Especially if you end up doing ”I Believe.” It’s funny, it’s perfect for your range, and it will sound fine outside…” His voice trailed off.”

“But?” Kurt prompted. He drew a hand down Blaine’s back. Obviously something was bothering him.

Blaine glanced at him quickly then, and looked back down at his hands, “But I’m really not happy about going back to NYADA. Even for a concert.”

They had talked about Blaine’s departure from NYADA. Kurt knew that Blaine was still angry with Madame Tibideaux for how she had cut him from the program when he sank into a major depressive episode after they broke up last year. But since they had been back in New York, he hadn’t said anything about it. He had seemed fine, in fact, when they were coordinating class schedules last week.

They had a long talk that night, curled up on the sofa, Blaine resting his head against Kurt’s chest. Kurt played with Blaine’s curls while Blaine spoke softly about how he had started sleeping through classes last summer after they broke up, failing to turn in assignments, and how he was finally summoned to the Dean’s office, where Madame Tibideaux asked him why he had missed three straight weeks of dance class with Professor July. He had looked at her blankly, unable to speak a word.

“And that was it,” said Blaine. “She gave me a lecture about not appreciating the opportunities that NYADA had extended to me and told me I had to leave.They cut off my student ID card access before I could even clean out my study carrel in the library.”

Kurt sighed. “I’m sorry, Blaine. I understand why you’re upset. I’m fine if you don’t want to come to the concert. I mean, it’s just for a bunch of freshmen and it’s not like you won’t get dragged to a million performances of mine for the rest of forever. If you’d rather stay away, I get it.”

Blaine readjusted himself against Kurt, and said, “But I want to hear you sing. I just don’t want to have to talk to Madame Tibideaux or anyone else. I don’t want to have to explain myself or put on a happy face and pretend what they did to me is okay. And you know Rachel will be there and since she’s going back, she’ll want to talk to everyone. I’ll just get dragged around and have to be polite… Anyway, I probably need to face up to it at some point. I mean, you’re graduating next spring and I’m going to have to go back for that...” Blaine fell silent.

“When are the Vocaholics performing?” asked Kurt. Blaine had been accepted into the NYU male a capella group, and they were already practicing for their own orientation concert. Blaine loved being part of an all vocal group again and because they were showcasing the new members in the first concert, he was the frontman in a number he wouldn’t tell Kurt the name of. It was meant to be a surprise.

“The day before your show at NYADA,” said Blaine. “Are you going to be able to make it?”

‘Definitely,” Kurt told him. “Watching you perform as the frontman of an a capella group? Still the hottest thing.”

Blaine laughed a bit and tucked his face further into Kurt’s neck. They sat there together quietly for a few minutes.

Kurt said, “Look, Blaine, why don’t you wait and see how you feel closer to the concert? I’m fine if you don’t want to come. If you do, we can just tell Rachel you’re coming late and you can meet her there. You know she’ll be all wrapped up in mingling by the time you get there. It’s outside, so you can stand at the back and I certainly won’t expect you to stick around and be social after. You can just leave and I’ll meet you back home.”

“It’s nice to finally have a ‘back home’ that’s really ours,” said Blaine. Kurt tugged him in a little closer, and nodded his agreement.

A week later Kurt and Elliott watched the Vocaholics perform. Kitty had just started at NYU as a freshman, and she came up to hug Kurt before the performance began.  Kurt welcomed her to New York and introduced her to Eilliott, but his attention was riveted to the singers.

Kurt couldn’t stop grinning. Blaine was dressed in the group’s uniform, which consisted of khaki chinos, navy blue cardigan with the Vocaholics logo on the left breast, a white dress shirt and a bowtie, finished off with Blaine’s favorite blue suede buck oxfords. It was the most perfectly “Blaine” outfit other than a Dalton uniform that Kurt had ever seen him in.

Blaine looked right at him and winked as he began the solo in the song he was performing.

_Oh, lullaby by birdland that's what I_  
_Always hear, when you sigh,_  
_never in my wordland could there be words to reveal_  
_in a phrase how I feel_

Kurt could feel Elliott roll his eyes next to him and start to laugh quietly.

“Shh,” Kurt hissed and nudged Elliott with his elbow.

“You two and birds,” muttered Elliott, but then he was quiet for the rest of the song.

Kurt took Blaine home after the concert and rapidly stripped him of the Vocaholics uniform. Right there in the living room, he dropped to his knees and pushed Blaine down on the sofa.

“Good to know,” said Blaine, gasping and sinking his hands into Kurt’s hair. “The bird thing still works…”

The next day, Blaine came to Kurt’s concert outside NYADA. He accompanied Rachel around the crowd as she reintroduced herself to faculty and students, and he clapped loudly after Kurt sang the song he had finally decided on from _If/Then_ :

_In my life,_  
_I never thought I'd get a second chance_  
_I thought I was done_  
_Then I met you_  
_And though I never dreamed I could learn how to love again_  
_I placed my bet_  
_And you came through_

He surprised Kurt by coming up to find him after the concert was over, slipping his arm around Kurt’s waist and saying “hello” to Madame Tibideaux as though he had just seen her yesterday in the NYADA cafeteria.

Later, as they walked home together Kurt asked Blaine what had changed.

“You were so worried about coming back last week and then in an instant you were the most social one there. You didn’t even let Madame Tibideaux scare you off.”

Blaine shrugged, smiled, took Kurt’s hand and said, “I think the concert yesterday gave me a fresh start. All of a sudden I was in a new group and we all were singing together in a way that I just know I’m good at. And it didn’t feel like I was a rejected NYADA student anymore. It felt like I was an NYU student who is working toward what he wants. Madame Tibideaux doesn’t have any more power over me.”

“Also, they let you sing a song about birds,” said Kurt.

Blaine nodded happily. “Yeah, they let me sing a song about birds.”

They turned into their building and Blaine looked around the street as he held the door for Kurt. He had a smile on his face and Kurt knew what he was thinking. Both of them had come to New York this summer determined and united, but also a little leery of the ghosts that might follow them. They both knew how hard it could be to live together and they had failed at it before, not once, but twice. But this summer had felt different for so many reasons. Today was proof that they could do things differently and it would be a success. He headed up the flight of stairs after Blaine.


	12. We Go Together (Prompt: Camping)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: It’s an end-of-summer camping trip. Kurt and Blaine look back and look ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Thank you to the folks at Klaine Summer Challenge 2016 on tumblr who organized this prompt challenge! We’ve really enjoyed putting it together. The chapter title is taken from the group finale in the musical Grease.

“I’m worried about Sam,” Blaine said as he put down his phone.  

 

“Why?” asked Kurt from the kitchen.  “It sounded like he was giving you some good tips on how to pitch a tent.”

 

“Yeah,” sighed Blaine, wandering in to look over Kurt’s shoulder as he packed food for the upcoming weekend.  “I don’t know, he said something about a bunch of changes coming up at McKinley, and not being sure if he would still have a job.  He just sounds… kind of lonely.”

 

“Hmm,” said Kurt, trying to decide between instant oatmeal and granola bars. “Well, you’ll have  a chance to see him in person next month when we go back to Lima.”

 

“Kurt…” Blaine ran a hand down Kurt’s back as though he were soothing away tension.  “I want to ask him to come back to New York.  I think he’d do better this time.  And we could let him stay in the pantry…”

 

The “pantry” was what Kurt called the space carved out of their kitchen.  It was really just an all-purpose storage space, airless and confined, but every inch counted in a Manhattan apartment.

 

Kurt’s response was instant and decisive.

 

“Absolutely not.” He looked at Blaine, one eyebrow arched, ready for the fight.

 

Blaine sighed. Sam’s last stay with them in the loft had been a disaster for everyone.  

 

He brought it up again as Kurt navigated the Prius out of the city.  The back was loaded with camping gear borrowed from Elliott.  They were headed to the Catskills for a last-weekend-before-fall camping trip.  It was Blaine’s idea.  Kurt shook his head and muttered something about Burt and a childhood camping excursion that ended when six-year old Kurt demanded air conditioning in his tent.  But Blaine insisted it would be fun, and Kurt didn’t know how not to indulge him.

 

“But I’m warning you Blaine, I’m really not good at living in the woods and going without hot water.  Even for forty eight hours.  Be forewarned.”

 

Blaine just laughed and turned back to the tent Elliott had lent them, setting it up in their living room for practice.  Even Kurt had to admit it was, well, cozy, in there just the two of them lying close together within the confines of nylon walls.

 

Now, threading through rush hour traffic in a slow crawl to the George Washington Bridge, Blaine turned down the music and brought up Sam again.

 

“Maybe he could come just for a visit? I mean, he doesn’t have to stay with us all the time.  He could stay with us and then Artie, and then Brit and Santana, and then come back to us…”

 

“Blaine,” Kurt’s eyes were focused on traffic, but his voice was clipped.  “He stayed with us for months.  He never left the house.  He ate our food without chipping in, and remember how many times he interrupted us…” He stopped talking to change lanes suddenly.

 

“I know,” Blaine sighed.  “It was awful, you’re right.  Having our own place is much better. I just… miss him.”

 

Kurt looked over at Blaine, who was staring out the passenger side window.  Kurt reached over to take his hand across the center console. “I know. Alright.  If you really want him to come, we can talk about it. But we need to be on the same page about how it’s going to go this time.”

 

The campground was a couple of hours outside the city, right on the banks of the Delaware River. Blaine was able to get the tent set up fairly easily, and Kurt started a fire in the fire ring. Blaine chuckled at the sight of him. Kurt was wearing jeans, Timberland boots and a plaid shirt that looked like something out of an LL Bean catalog.

 

“Is there ever a fashion challenge you can’t meet?” Blaine asked, dropping a small handful of kindling next to Kurt and running an appreciative hand across his shoulders.  

 

“Not yet,” said Kurt, smiling up at him from where he was crouched by the ring feeding the small blaze.  “I expect parenthood will be my biggest test.  Looking fashionable while dealing with poop and spit-up may be my Rubicon.”

 

They sat by the fire as the sky darkened overhead and the stars emerged. Kurt cooked hamburgers and corn in its husks over the flames, and Blaine heated water to wash the few dishes afterward. Then Blaine got his guitar from the car and played snippets of songs as Kurt toasted marshmallows and fed them to him, hot, sticky, and too sweet. They argued playfully about how to cook them.  Kurt was fastidious about carefully browning the outsides, while Blaine preferred setting them on fire and then gleefully popping the entire charred mess in his mouth.  The dark sky overhead was filling with evening stars and they could hear the sounds of other campers through the woods, talking and preparing their own meals. The sound of the river water slowly moving past lingered in the background.

 

“It’s been a good summer, hasn’t it?” Kurt said at one point.

 

“Yes,” said Blaine simply, looking at Kurt, eyes full.  “The best summer.”

 

“Why do you think we figured it out this time?” asked Kurt, poking at the embers of the fire with his marshmallow stick.  

 

Blaine thought his face looked like it was carved out of grecian marble, lit up by the flames. “We made such a mess of it the last two times.”  “I don’t know,” Blaine shrugged.  He didn’t like to dissect it. Thinking about breaking up with Kurt and moving out of the loft still made him slightly queasy.  “Maybe we were destined to be together.  Maybe we’re soulmates or two halves of a whole and the universe was going to push us back together no matter what.”

 

Kurt looked at him across the fire, grinning a little. “You make it sound like a bad tv show, Blaine,” he said, standing and starting to get ready to douse the flames.

 

“I saved you some hot water for your nighttime skin routine,” said Blaine. And they worked together without needing to talk more, putting out the fire, making sure the food was packed in the car to prevent animals from finding it, and finally settling into the tent, close together under the bedding Blaine had spread out earlier.

 

“Why do _you_ think we figured it out this time?” Blaine asked Kurt, pushing his hand up under Kurt’s tee shirt to rest his palm on Kurt’s stomach.  Blaine always found it easier to talk when he could touch Kurt’s skin.  Kurt was still, looking up at the nylon tent above them.

 

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s like singing.  It just takes practice.”  He turned toward Blaine then, and kissed him. Blaine pulled him in close. Kurt didn’t mind that Blaine smelled of woodsmoke and Blaine didn’t complain about the hard ground underneath them.  It wasn’t perfect, but they were together and they would figure it out.  It’s what they did.  It’s what they would always do.

 


End file.
